san frannnnn

Cali is rad. I love it here and wish I were never coming back to New York. OK, well, that's not true - NYC ain't so bad. It's just that this city is so.o.o.o.o.o chill. Saw some touristy stuff and also gorged on the ubiquitous cali staple, In N Out Burger.

Met a lot of smart and interesting people so far. It just feels more REAL here, less poseur than Manhattan / Williamsburg. If I didn't live in New York I would definitely live here, earthquakes or no!

I'm just updating this really quickly then I'm off to explore by myself since Alex is at work. (Her apt is so fly BTW. I wanna be her new roommate.) I'm going to walk through the park then go to Ocean Beach. It might take me all day to walk there but A is an iBanker and might be working til midnight so I have plenty o' free time.

Probably peacing out from SF tomorrow to hit up Long Beach / LA with Rachel. Holla for SoCal but tears for leaving the Bay.

Update:

San Francisco was one of the best cities I've ever visited. It was so relaxing and clean and interesting. There were a lot of scary homeless people in random spots though. I definitely want to live here someday for at least a few years.

After overstaying my welcome with Alex (about 5 days), I hopped an early morning BART bus to central SF to catch a private bus to LA. It was the cheapest route I could find and it only cost a pittance - maybe $70. After some navigational troubles I found the "Station" - which consisted of a tiny sign outside a fast food joint. I of course immediately went into the restaurant (NOT In 'n' Out unfortunately - it was something weird I don't recall) and got some lunch. The only other people there were also obviously waiting for the bus to LA as they also had duffels and backpacks. The guy next to me decided to strike up a conversation.

At first I was wary but he seemed like a nice, jolly guy. I of course immediately started talking about my "girlfriend" so he would know I was gay - and think I was definitely not single. Usually this method serves well to weed out the guys who are just looking to pick you up - if they are just looking for conversation, they don't mind at all that you're a homo.

So this guy and I got on well - he was a photographer and he had a lot of tips for a first-timer to LA - what to see, where to go. He told me I looked like a "Silver Laker" as I guess that's Cali's version of Williamsburg. (For some reason, people in SF / LA all know what Williamsburg is, which is random. At Alex's house party, a friend of hers who was originally from NYC commented, "Oh, she looks like someone from Williamsburg or something" and Alex had to laugh.) Anyway, we struck up such a rapport that when we boarded the bus, we took seats side by side.

This turned out to be a good decision. The first thing he did was offer me a sticky chocolate brownie, accompanied by an exaggerated wink. Sweet! The 5-hour ride, which in exchange for its cheapness offers literally no sights of beauty or interest along the route, went by very quickly. He was an interesting dude, for sure. Turned out he was a photographer of the old and arcane. He told me a really, really long story about photographing "ghosts" in Louisiana swampland. Sounds like he got a bunch of creepy pictures of old furniture in run down houses. Sorry, but stories of "open drawers" and "shadows on rugs" will never be enough to convince me of the existence of spirits.

When we arrived in LA, night had fallen and we parted ways. Out of an exaggerated need to "save trouble", I had insisted to Rachel that there was no need to pick me up all the way in LA, and I agreed to take a bus as close to Huntington Beach that ran at night.

Big mistake.

Turned out that this entailed taking a subway from the bus station to some random spot in downtown LA. I have taken many a metro system (NY / LN / DC / Boston, etc) but LA's was the most confusing by far. By the time I figured out how to get where I was going, I missed the next ride.

So I found myself on a darkened street in downtown LA surrounded by homeless people and sketchy dudes. It's 11pm. I'm 5'2" carrying a blue duffel and looking way out of my element. Can anyone say runaway prostitute?

It was surreal. I felt like I was in some kind of post-Apocalyptic world. Surrounded by huge, shiny chrome and glass office buildings but standing by heaps of trash and wandering ragged beggars. So far, I don't like LA.

I wait on a metal bench for the bus to arrive. According to the schedule it's supposed to show up at 1145, but it never comes. I wait. Call Rachel, wait some more. Men and women walk by, pushing rusted shopping carts filled with plastic bags and various recyclables. I pretend to talk on my blackberry so the numerous men also waiting for the bus don't talk to me.

Finally, 45 minutes later, the bus arrives. Taking public transport in LA SUCKS. You clearly need a car. People taking public transport seem to be really poor and the drivers treat them like dirt. Some poor guy was screamed at for taking a bicycle onto the bus - it was obvious that he needed it for work, and that the bus driver was obligated to take him on anyway, but he just took the piss out of the guy for no reason. Afterward, the driver looked at me as if to commiserate, like, "what an asshole, trying to take his bike on board!" I pointedly looked away. The driver was white - so was I. Everyone else was black or latino. It was a long drive to Huntington.

Rach and Pete picked me up at the bus stop and we drove to Pete's house in Huntington Beach. Such a cute little beach town although it felt pretty suburban. I guess it was. I don't think I could ever live in such a boring little grid. Manhattan may be a grid, but that's a totally different setup and there is lots of diversity. This was much more monotonous.

Pete's in a band and it was a total band house. Guys crammed together, two to a room, instruments and cables everywhere. But it was really clean, and nicely set up. I didn't feel uncomfortable at all, despite the overwhelming scent of Axe and testosterone.