bg/ag publishing

bg/ish: "...a lot of strands in the ol' Duder's head."

I mentally checked out about a week and a half ago. Well, that's my best guess. Hard to say. Y'know, having been running on auto-pilot for 10 days or so....

I found myself bright eyed and cheery and shit walking Chewzilla through Dolores Park this morning. It was 7:15 a.m. This is not like me at all. I saw an SFPD officer rousing the four or five scattered homeless from their sleep. I was disgusted. If a few mostly harmless homeless folks can't get a comfortable, relatively safe nights sleep in the park, and I can't have a beer on a nice day after work, then indeed the entire world is turning upside down. But let me back up for a minute...

Friday night. Friday night was reckless. A huge steaming bowl of Pho to start off the night. Wait, technically the six pack of Red Stripe started the night. I carried one on the walk to Sunflower.

For some reason the waiter, who is accustomed to seeing me regularly, has decided that I really like Thai Iced Tea. And he's decided to start bringing me one without provocation. And with a simple wave of his hand he's indicating to me that it's on the house. Is he friendly, or just supplementing my addiction to Beef Noodle Soup? I can't call it.

One shouldn't sweat so much over a dinner with friends. I was sweating like I owed all of them money. Or had secretly slept with one of their relatives, only it wasn't a secret anymore. But with a huge steaming bowl of soup in your face, and access to unlimited "rooster sauce", how can one avoid it? Regardless, I did damage. Proper.

What happened next? I don't know. A walk. A smoke? What was clouding my mind? So many factors to consider. No time. Next thing I know, I'm walking towards Latin America. In the company of friends. In the company of strangers. 4 margaritas. We call them "blackout margaritas". There is a logical reason for that. I only drank half of mine. This too, is unusual for me.

George for the win. "Double-O-C". Out of Control. High Fives all around the bar. I'm lost. In a haze. Isn't there a party we're supposed to be going to?

Right. Find a cab. After 1 a.m. Bars are closing. Find a cab quickly. Please Sir, to Hayes Valley.

This corner is fine. We'll find it from here. All those people on the stoop. Must be the place. They look at us as if we were Spanish settlers arriving on the shores of North America. Bewildered amusement. We are nowhere close to their state of mind. Zombies. They'll be up all night. Feeding on each others flesh.

A 12 pack of Stella dissipates with a quickness. Artificial confidence permeates the air. Girls pull the skin off their faces, and it feels good. Jaws are clenched. Private conversations in bathrooms. Cigarettes. Bright lights. This will go on all night. We are not up for it.

19th and Valencia please.

Swisher. Nugs. Roll it. Wake up. 4 more blocks to walk. 3:30 a.m. Made it. The couch. "Now, tell me your problems." Or anything else. Nothing to say? Let's get lost. 5 a.m. Sleep before the sun comes up.

Saturday Morning:


Heavenly. Step outside. The 13th letter. Sun. Smoke. Polish off lunch. Shot of Fernet. Mash. Back to sleep.

Wake up to the afternoon sounds of Dolores Park. It's lovely out. Antonio arrives with a bag full of Grolsch. Morale +3. Pack a bowl. Level Up. The Zombies have braved the sun. "You gotta wash that filth off man, you just gotta." Dinner in the Mission. Enchiladas with spicy green sauce. Salsa Verde. Horchata. Slice of cake....

Sunday. Bike rides. Park naps. Burritos. Bike rides. Park naps. Deja Vu. Literally. Sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms, olives. 1 slice please.

Wait. That's it. Sunday! Let me back up again. A week ago... Last Sunday.

Mashing through SOMA. Office chair on the sidewalk. For the taking. Nothing more than a slight tear in the pleather. Stash it. "Are you taking that chair?" Yes Mr. Homeless man. Your property value will not be doubling on this day.

What's on deck for tonight? Dub Mission. Elbo Room. I've got no ID. Where could it be? Turned the house inside out. Perhaps it's at my office. A ride there? Perfect. A text message: "You should pick up that chair. Show our cutty style."

ID: obtained.

Chair: obtained.

Morale +5. Level Up.

Dub Mission. Dark. Hot. Smokey. Sweaty. Wobble. Deep Grooves. Dancing. Racer 5. So good. So good!

Took me this long to wake up...

Can we go back to sleep now?