Tag Archives: Indian

Jamaica

~ 0 ~
SFO in the early morning
MtVC
sleep
triple couple brunch date
SFO in the afternoon
work
packing
eating
yellow fever film
SFO late at night
Japanese, Mexican, American, or Chinese?

~ 1 ~
Hank Williams on the
turbulent red-eye
flashlights in the early morning
United Club at IAD
hella babies on the
flight to Jamaica
the first Jamaican woman to speak to/about me:
“it’s not fair. he’s not even using it,”
referencing my hair
all customs agents are the same stern
accosted by taxi drivers
one is hella chill so we go w him ($15)
he walks slow as hell
“we grow up w weed”
tried to sell me some but his guy is out
Caribic House
gentleman clerk
third floor balcony view of the sea
buy weed from souvenir shop ($20 for crap)
Pork Pit
buy weed from random vagrant (J$200 for crap)

~ 2 ~
breakfast at the Mocha Cafe
Knutsford Express to Negril
buy Blue Cheese from taxi driver ($5 for quality)
Yoga Centre
stroll and smoke along the beach
the German dude
yoga in the evening
shower and drinks
Alfred’s Ocean Palace
couple drinks and cricket at the Sunrise

~ 3 ~
smoothies and breakfast at the YC
chillin on the beach
spring rolls and papaya salad
Natalie naps / Americanah
drinks at One Love bar
curried conch w rice & peas at sweet spot

~ 4 ~
goodbye YC & Negril
KE to Kingston
wild winding ride east
the big city
the Spanish Court,
free rum punch on arrival
walking in the rain to
Devon House
coffee for her, coffee i-scream for me
walking in the lightening rain
Natalie goes chic in the city
divine Indian at Nirvanna

~ 5 ~
free breakfast: eggs, platanos, festival, bacon, fruit, coffee, water
taxi drive with a former yam farmer to
the National Gallery of Jamaica
walk through saturday downtown market
taxi to the grocery
Tashanna the angel
Natalie runs on the treadmill, i walk to KE
sunset swimming in the freezing infinity pool
hot bath w love
shower the hair
dress and small dinner
last home drink
up up up the hill to
dub club
smoky dub music in the clouds
danced
saw fireworks
and popcorn
and dancing
circles, circling back to a
champagne glass next to the drivers seat
flask of herb wine next to mine
slowly, slithering back to New Kingston
in the nighttime of a new day

~ 6 ~
free breakfast: kitchen sink omelet, fruit, coffee, water, festival, platanos, and a complimentary mimosa
walking to the banks, several failed withdrawals
packing up
waiting for Robert
red shirt, tan truck, big smile
cash out
ride up
the treehouse
the tour
the pool and trail
dinner at 6?
acki and shellfish, peas and rice, greens not calaloo
reading and drinking
scrabble in bed under the net
never ending music for a wake, then an end

~ 7 ~
wake up puffy eyed a little before 9
shirtless on the balcony
big rainbow across the sky
Chef says breakfast is on the way
coffee, scrambled eggs w veggies, fried plantains, breadfruit (looked like dry pineapple slices), slices of mango, a peeled orange, everything fresh, juicy, lovely
more coffee, Bobby and Chef smoking
prep
driving to Holywell
the waterfall hike
smoke at the falls
kiss on the hills
walk to David’s coffee plantation
the Chinese crew, little kids giggling and playing games, the two big dogs loafing and eyeing everyone, the coffee man deeply darkened by the sun yet profoundly lightened by endless cups of coffee
walking back home
Natalie’s forgotten R1: the run
gap cafe too fancy
walk thru the military yard
flask of clear rum, water, cheese puffs, and chocolates at the bubbles stop
walk home
cold shower (Ginger on drums)
wifi, soup, and dinner (more Fela)
seafish, fried carrots and greens, potato, yams, plantains
greasy spliff
drinks and reading

~ 8 ~
up a little earlier, round 830
coffee and breakfast on the taller balcony
acki and fish, breadfruit, fried plantains, papaya, orange
reading reading reading
the ride to Craighton
the $25 tour w Jerome
280,000 coffee plants—arabica not robusta—the latter 52% of the world coffee, the former 48%—though like the #1 most traded good (oil), the #2 (coffee) is often adulterated as there’s no standard nor authority—and Blue Mountain arabica is something special, with 70% of its sales going to wealthy Japanese—Jamaicans themselves drink instant coffee—unless they’re like Robert—usually Arabica ripens in 5-7 months, in Blue Mountains it takes 9-11—juicier, sweeter—Twyman and other north side farmers get less sun so their harvest is shorter
three cups of coffee after the lesson
walk to red light
bananas and coconut snack from the roadside rasta
walk from red light
Natalie loses her shades
hitching a ride w the 33 year old who spent 20 years living in Kingston before moving to London, comes back to visit family every xmas, warned us of the dangers of hitch hiking
eits cafe
walking up and a ride w David, bobby’s coz
walking to prince valley
glasses for a drink and phone
meeting, laughing, smoking w omero from Oakland and Tazia from near Kingston
drinks and dinner: beans, greens, and pumpkin rice, perfection
sunset
beer and adieu
reading, reading, hearts, reading

~ 9 ~
up a little earlier, around 815
Ovid on the balcony
coffee and breakfast in the usual spot
acki and fish, plantains, coco bread
packing up and paying
peace
dj dale down the mountain
bob Marley museum
best dinner (fried chicken, beef stew, pork stew, or curried goat?) plus rum
two wedding episodes of friends

~ 10 ~
coffee, toast, and fruit on the balcony
Mahogany Beach
food and drink on James (same menu)
crazy dance boat party TV
Turtle Beach
souvenir shopping i
drinks on James
moms restaurant (fish stew)

~ 11 ~
coffee, toast, and fruit on the balcony
souvenir shopping ii
passage to passage to India (naan, South Indian chicken, chicken tikka masala)
chilling at KE
KE to Mo Bay
El Greco, cocktail on arrival
cocktails and joint on the balcony (Half Pint)
bellboy escort to room, J$400
atm, the old walk
1/2 lb ribs at pork pit
the walk back
another round

~ 12 ~
up around 8
finished Herzog
breakfast: one American, one Jamaican (mine is fried fish, greens, small banana, yucca, dumpling, and Nat’s French toast)
old white retired everywhere
blacks go J, whites go A
down to the street, rum up
packing, Brilliant Corners, checking out
smoke on the cliff side
delayed flight
walk down to the park shade
bk fries
taxi to airport
lines, lines, food court, hearts
exit row flight
chaos at CLT Continue reading

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selections from Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri

In the end, that was life: a few plates, a favorite comb, a pair of slippers, a child’s string of beads. Continue reading

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selections from Sadhana: The Classic of Indian Spirituality by Rabindranath Tagore

Mind can never know Brahma, words can never describe him; he can only be known by our soul, by her joy in him, by her love. Continue reading

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Paris · Farningham · London · Amsterdam

~ 0 ~
horrible traffic
in n out
4-hour delay
“this is the worst airline ever”
chili’s out of salad and Mexican food
geographically challenged hostess
know your rights!
sleep? dreamy purple pinkish tint thereof
a moment in Oslo
Paris
nightmare on rue chaptal
Moulin Rouge

~ 1 ~
walk to espresso
Tour Eiffel
walk along the Seine
lunch in the Latin Quarter?
Notre Dame
espresso for the Louvre
kill in the garden
fancy ass French food
Arc de Triomphe
legs falling off
white wine and Lucky Strike

~ 2 ~
Père Lachaise
Indian at Chapelle
Musée d’Orsay
USA WINS 0-1
fancy ass fucking ave (dck sp + chkn brst)
farewell to the Seine
1-2-3!!! something something Algérie!!!

~ 3 ~
omelette complet at the Gare du Nord
Eurostar to Ebbsfleet
tea (twice) on the Tabsfield green
tomato basil, cheesy mushroom quiche, fresh strawberry creme brûlée, and a couple pints with the wedding party and co.
the cottage

~ 4 ~
fresh fruit, meat, a poached egg, and coffee
dressing for the wedding
Frost on the green
wedding at St Peter and St Paul’s Church
half Indian feast and dance (the Brits, the delicious Indian food, the champagne beer red and white wine, the light rain, and heavy dancing)
afterparty at the cottage

~ 5 ~
breakfast redux (hungover version)
football w Maya on the green
to London
appetizing Indian leftovers
The Tower
wandering in the rain
St. Paul’s
old fucking white egg-headed, perfectly circular black spectacle-wearing, pound-grubbing pieces of shit ushers guarding against pilgrims at the footsteps to the house of god
covent garden
pho
lazying and familying

~ 6 ~
waking up sans Natalie in a nasty mood
bacon on a roll
cold shower
Tate Modern
Eat.
The Globe
Parliament
Westminster
Evensong
Upminster then Whitechapel
ALG v GER

~ 7 ~
waking up w Natalie, happily
full English breakfast in Whitechapel
Natural History Museum
Kensington Gardens
fancy ass Indian food
£5 to the girl from Canada Macedonia CA
USA v BLG :(

~ 8 ~
scratched iris
mushroom omelette
nap to
Stonehenge
and nap from
Nando’s w David and Evelyn

~ 9 ~
to Amsterdam
grocery shopping
white wine
Concertgebouw
a spliff at Rookie’s
shoarma on the corner

~ 10 ~
homemade breakfast
double espresso
spliff on the diagonal green
Rijksmuseum
shopping, snacks in bed
Little Thai Prince
red light district
overpriced and pre-rolled
stoned wander home
ice cream

~ 11 ~
bacon breakfast
Blue Bird
Myrabelle, bartended by a more muscular and more feminine version of John Dwyer.
gluten-free crackers, goat cheese, smoked salmon, olives dripping in oil and basil, water, and wine
second Thai dinner
Vondelpark
Amstels all night at the cafe
NED v CRC

~ 12 ~
nightmare
check out
fresh fruit pancake across from Anne Frank
spliff on the green
Van Gogh Museum
rest in Vondelpark
walk
coffee
bus
plane
tube

~ 13 ~
tube
train
plane
Oslo
plane
Oakland
home? Continue reading

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Show Me (the Hindu Art of) Love

photo(1)typically, thanks to the fact that i never board the metro near downtown, i get a seat. and, more often than note, i get a seat by a window, because nobody else wants to be locked in. i, with my 45m commute to and from work, do not give a fuck. so i usually crawl into my window seat, maybe prop my legs up, and bury myself in whatever book i want, even if that book be an illustrated copy of the Ananga-Ranga, an Indian sex manual written in the 15th or 16th century to save “foolish and unintelligent” from their “animal point of view” of women.

it’s interesting stuff, even for an unmarried 21st century man like myself, but not necessarily what you want to be caught reading in an aisle seat surrounded by restless commuters in the middle of rush hour. oh well…

It is true that no joy in the world of mortals can compare with that derived from the knowledge of the Creator. Second, however, and subordinate only to this, are the satisfaction and pleasure arising from the possession of a beautiful woman. (xv)

do i buy it? i’m fascinated by religion and often even consider myself a pretty spiritual person, but i’m not sure i’m quite yet on the level of putting something like “knowledge” above “pleasure.” why can’t we have it all and just admit that “knowledge of the Creator” is the same thing as “possession of a beautiful woman”? in all seriousness, i’ve found myself suggesting this very notion especially when discussing music. for sex is a kind of rhythm, despite Chris arguing it not being a very good song, and therefore maybe it’s the rhythm of the Creator. oh dang. also, yes, we’re all uncomfortable with the word “possession” when applied to “woman,” no matter how “beautiful.” moving along.

And thus all you who read this book shall know how delicious an instrument is woman, when artfully played upon; how capable she is of producing the most exquisite harmony; of executing the most complicated variations and of giving the divinest pleasures. (xvi)

photo(4)

delicious indeed. no matter how true this selection might be, one can’t help but imagine it coming from the twisted mouth of a sleazy old monster hiding in some horrible saloon caught halfway between Middle Earth and the Tenderloin.

i thought it’d be helpful to see the illustrations i saw while reading this text. also, picture the guy sitting next to me on the metro thinking to myself, “oh jesus i’m sitting next to a fucking creep.”

Before proceeding to the various acts of congress, the symptoms of the orgasm in women must be laid down. As soon as she commences to enjoy pleasure, the eyes are half closed and watery; the body waxes cold; the breath after being hard and jerky, is expired in sobs or sighs; the lower limbs are limply stretched out after a period of rigidity; a rising and outflow of love and affection appear, with kisses and sportive gestures; and, finally, she seems as if about to swoon. At such time, a distaste for further embraces and blandishments becomes manifest: then the wise know that, the paroxysm having taken place, the woman has enjoyed plenary satisfaction; consequently, they refrain from further congress. (19)

the first thing that comes to mind for me while reading this is… how scientific! it all sounds about right, but i can’t in good faith verify any of it. if i compare this to what i see in porn, i’d be a laughing stock for believing porn to any degree. and if i go off of personal experience, well, let’s just say i’m not exactly in a studious mood while engaging with a women undergoing “paroxysm.”

photo(6)The following are the signs by which the wise know that woman is amorous:–She rubs and repeatedly smoothes her hair (so that it may look well). She scratches her head (that notice may be drawn to it). She strokes her own cheeks (so as to entice her husband). She draws her dress over her bosom, apparently to readjust it, but leaves her breasts partly exposed. She bites her lower lip, chewing it, as it were. At times she looks ashamed without a cause (the result of her own warm fancies), and she sits quietly in the corner (engrossed by concupiscence). She embraces her female friends, laughing loudly and speaking sweet words, with jokes and jests, to which she desires a return in kind. She kisses and hugs young children, especially boys. She smiles with one cheek, loiters in her gait, and unnecessarily stretches herself under some pretence or other. At times she looks at her shoulders and under her arms. She stammers, and does not speak clearly and distinctly. She sighs and sobs without reason, and she yawns whenever she wants tobacco, food, or sleep. She even throws herself in her husband’s way and will not readily get out of his path. (29)

if you think that sounded straightforward, then prepare yourself:

The following are the eight signs of indifference to be noted in womankind:–When worldly passion begins to subside, the wife does not look straight between her husband’s eyes. If anything be asked of her, she shows unwillingness to reply. If the man draw near her, and looks happy, she feels pained. If he departs from her she shows symptoms of satisfaction. When seated upon the bedstead, she avoids amatory blandishments and lies down quietly to sleep. When kissed or toyed with she jerks away her face or her form. She cherishes malicious feelings towards her husband’s friends; and finally, she has no respect nor reverence for his family. When these signs are seen, let it be known that the wife is already weaned from conjugal desires. (29)

photo(5)“i swear to god she was making no clear signs whatsoever. all she ever did was JERK HER FACE AWAY anytime i tried to toy with her… how the hell was i supposed to know she didn’t want sex?” part of me wants to give the author a break because this was written in the 15th century, but then other times he proves that he’s actually somewhat ahead of his time:

And, moreover, let it be noted that the desires of the woman being colder, and slower to rouse than those of the man, she is not easily satisfied by a single act of congress; her lower powers of excitement demand prolonged embraces, and if these be denied her, she feels aggrieved. At the second act, however, her passions being thoroughly aroused, she finds the orgasm more violent, and then she is thoroughly contented. This state of things is clean reversed in the case of the man, who approaches the first act burning with love-heat, which cools during the second, and which leaves him languid and disinclined for a third. But the wise do not argue therefrom, that the desires of the woman, as long as she is young and strong, are not the full as real and urgent as those of the man. The custom of society and the shame of the sex may compel her to conceal them and even to boast that they do not exist; yet the man who has studied the Art of Love is never deceived by this cunning. (32)

basically, only an idiot believes a woman who plays along with society, pretending to be less interested sex than men. even the first part feels pretty spot on. guys just want to put it in, jackhammer, come across the world, and sleep. women need time to get worked up. and how do you take your time? well there are SEVEN different places you can kiss her!

And understand at once that there are seven places highly proper for osculation, in fact, where all the world kisses. These are–First, the lower lip. Second, both the eyes. Third, both the cheeks. Fourth, the head. Fifth, the mouth. Sixth, both breasts; and seventh, the shoulders. (100)

photo(3)and those are only the “highly proper” places ;)

really, i could be copying so many more massive chunks of the text to this blog, so i’d better stop there. but before i go, let me leave you with the footnote on the term “Purushayitabandha,” which “is the reverse of what men usually practice. In this case, the man lies upon his back, draws his wife upon him and enjoys her.” (125) the footnote reads:

This position is held in great horror by Muslims who commonly say, “Cursed be he who makes himself earth and woman heaven!”

so she can be on her back, on her side, standing up, sitting on you (if you’re sitting), and on her belly (or all fours), but Allah forbid! she catch you on your back? please, you should try being earth every once in awhile. it’s quite humbling. Continue reading

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blind

in total, i drank one beer and a few sips of rye this weekend. what an interesting, beautiful weekend.

sunday was the cherry. my love left in the early afternoon after we feasted on bacon, cheesy broccoli eggs, and chili, all thanks to my lovely roommate Xanthe. goodbyes are easier when you’re on a mission for big sound. traffic was just fine, letting me zoom the pantyflasher east across the bay and back in time with plenty of time for sunset. why danville? because:

mesa and fender

in order of appearance in my life: one black Fender jazz. one Mesa M6. and, today acquired, one Mesa 1×15. that’s my new setup, and it should last me for a long while. for a little house in Ingleside, 320 watts running through a single 15″ speaker should suffice. christ, i don’t even know how to play the bass. at least it looks pretty!

now, fat on my own homemade Circassian Chicken, let me attempt a snippet of saturday.

wandering, wandering, wandering…
stark bluff rising like desert architecture…
gentle crashing blue-green-gold Pacific…
ourselves some little California seclusion…
blue blanket out of the bag, green grapes rolling, dark hair
blowing, pink frills lazily flowing, red pepper
goat cheese cracking a kaleidoscope of flavor
and tone and warmth the solar radiation, sometimes
grey floating wisps of dust and fog, ingredients to a perfect state,
the state that is our little California seclusion, my death.
a bit later, after escaping the scythe-wielding timekeeper
the sea, she killed me again.

if you are a good boy in heaven, and you die,
you enter an even greater paradise.

i’ll admit i’m not presenting the entire picture. Continue reading

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Why [archive]

here are three of my favorite flags ever, in some particular order:

i bought a pretty big version of the second one there on the Haight on saturday. i had plans for a week or longer to get a giant rainbow flag, not just for Pride, but also just to have because rainbows are awesome, but when i saw the coiled snake hissing, DONT TREAD ON ME, i had to choose that instead. to make it up to San Francisco, i got a rainbow bandana too. Rachel bought some wild white leg warmers which she sported at Pride the very next day:

everyone loved her. we discovered probably the best stage at the whole party because it was blasting heavy, funky, trippy four-on-the-floor beats, the best to dance to. once we cleared out a big enough circle in the crowd for Rachel, she got her hoop on and everybody fell in love (except for the two or there people she may have knocked here and there). one creeper in particular, after making sure she wasn’t my girlfriend, kept insisting on turning to me and telling me how fucking sexy, how fucking beautiful, how fucking hot she was. fuck you dude i just want to dance! honestly, i actually got my fair share of attention too, though i have no tits nor ass nor was my outfit as crazy as Rachel’s. i was wearing my DONT TREAD ON ME flag as a cape and wielding my disco ball with the fury of a thousand suns (the little lighted dots that reflected the one circle in the sky across the faces of everyone around me). dance party in the day!

on monday, after finishing up my work in the morning, i went with Rachel to an awesome coffee shop at their original location in the Mission. i had a “Tantalizing Turkish,” long known to be one of my favorites. while Rachel slaved away with Bay Area foreclosure data entry over shitty wi-fi and periodic injections of consciousness-dependent caffeine, i sipped my Turkish and read Dostoevsky. check out this brilliant barrage of wisdom, vomited by the protagonist’s only companion, drunk at the time:

‘What do you think?’ cried Razumikhin in a still louder tone. ‘Do you think I am annoyed because they talk nonsense? Rubbish! I like people to talk nonsense. It is man’s unique privilege, among all other organisms. By pursuing falsehood you will arrive at the truth! The fact that I am in error shows that I am human. You will not attain to one single truth until you have produced at least fourteen false theories, and perhaps a hundred and fourteen, and that is honourable enough in its fashion; but we can’t even produce our errors out of our own heads. You can talk the most mistaken rubbish to me, and if it is your own, I will embrace you! It is almost better to tell your own lies than somebody else’s truth; in the first case you are a man, in the second you are no better than a parrot! Truth remains; but life can be choked up; there have been instances. Well, what are we all now? We are all, without exception, children in the kindergarten, in respect of science, progress, thought, invention, ideals, desires, liberalism, judgment, experience, and everything, everything, everything, everything! We have been content to rub along on other people’s ideas–we have rusted away! That is so, isn’t it? What I say is true, isn’t it?’ exclaimed Razumikhin, shaking and squeezing both ladies’ hands. ‘Isn’t it?’ (171)

much of my media consumption lately has been concerning crime:

it’s almost a poem. “crime and punishment / a cross the universe / irreversible.” plot points for all three combined read like the trailer to a Jean-Luc Godard French New Wave classic: The pretty girl. The bad boy. The revolver. The nice man. The stupid manager. Death. The little Parisian. The jewel thief. The French house. The police. The pin-up. The musicians. The “skivvy.” St. Petersburg. My friend Razumikhin. John Stuart Mill. The American interviewer. The Utilitarianists. The camcorder. Tenderness. Adventure. Lies. Love. The Golden Gate Bridge. Fear. Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Closure. Memento. CRIME AND PUNISHMENT A CROSS THE UNIVERSE IRREVERSIBLE. The best book/live dvd/film around now.

i can’t read as fast as i can buy books, unfortunately. i got a bunch of new (used) books! for about $20, in total:

The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (inspired by the Whitman house)
Lunch Poems by Frank O’Hara (inspired by Tori)
East of Eden by John Steinbeck (inspired by Allison)
Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman (inspired by Dan)

i love used bookstores. Dog Eared in the Mission is particularly incredible. yeah, after finishing up at Philz Coffee, Rachel and i wandered around the neighborhood with no particular mission. she bought a sparkly little sequined purse at Goodwill, where i got the Steinbeck. we also discovered not one but two bizarre little stores almost right next to each other on Valencia. the first was filled with taxidermy, fossils, awesome books on nature, and even had a backyard pond complete with plants. the second was a pirate shop that we’re convinced never makes any money because all they sell is cheesy pirate gear: eye patches, peg legs, whale oil, etc. then like fifteen steps away were three amazing used bookstores, including Dog Eared, where i got the non-Steinbeck books listed above. i want to live in the Mission.

after all the wandering, we were quite hungry, and Rachel had wanted to go to this place called La Oaxaqueña. i can’t remember the names of anything we had except for Rachel’s crab enchiladas. but, as one reviewer said on Yelp, “Their Mexican Hot Chocolate is HAPPINESS IN A CUP.” yessirree.

on tuesday, the vicious kitten and i explored a different brand of hippiedom: Berkeley. after we had exchanged musics a couple weeks ago, i naturally became more aware of her gifted musicians in all the music news streams i check. so when i noticed that CocoRosie was playing a free show at Amoeba Berkeley, i easily convinced Rachel to stay until at least Tuesday night. they put on a great show. it’s these two sisters, Bianca “Coco” and Sierra “Rosie” Casady, both born in the US but they formed the band in Paris. Wikipedia says, “Their music has been called “freak folk”, and incorporates elements of pop, blues, opera, electronica, and hip hop.” i say, they’re the Notwist with not-as-depressing vocals sung by females instead of a male, one being Joanna Newsom meets Bjork and the other being a great opera singer in the shower as heard through a bedroom wall. yeah, it’s weird stuff. they even had a beatboxer on stage providing most of the beats. i really liked that.

after the show, we wandered in circles trying to decide what to eat, until finally leaving it up to Yelp, which led us to this inexpensive, incredibly delicious Indian place. spicy curry, warm naan, squishy mushrooms, nice rice, hot tea, some strange mango drink, and enough tap water to wash an elephant; Rachel and Ronny are fucking in heaven.

bodies bloated, minds meandering, the two Rs next wandered to a little sanctuary Google Maps tells me is called People’s Park. check out that article. apparently this particular park has quite a bit of history. we didn’t know that then, though. i just lay in the sun, blasted the diverse throbs of Bassnectar from my bassless iPhone, and watched this gorgeous girl spin in time with the entire solar system:

Rachel in the park

before Rachel’s flight out of Oakland at 8, we drove aimlessly up the Berkeley hills. i was somehow confident we’d find a cool lookout spot, and we did! all of San Francisco Bay lay before us like it had just two weeks earlier from Treasure Island. a beautiful girl and a beautiful bay, like a sweet cappuccino served with a freshly baked croissant. perfection; kill me now.

the day after i lay around lazily for most of the day until evening, when i went to Adam’s house for his BBQ-less/farewell party/high school reunion shindig. he had invited Chris, Mark, me, Stephen, and Tori, but only Tori and i showed up at 730. the rest came a couple hours later. i had such a good time though. after i ate a killer quesadilla (thanks Adam’s dad!) and delectable salad (thanks Adam’s mom!), the three of us just lounged in the living room, listening to choice vinyl from the Adam Lee collection and shooting the shit. dear Adam and Tori, i love you. you guys have great taste in music and great taste in conversation. i could sit in a living room with you two talking for the rest of my life. as long as delicious tri-tip quesadillas and juicy tomato salads are served periodically.

now don’t get confused. i’m not about to tell the same story twice. i just have really cool friends. ready?

yesterday was a very special day. Tori came over in the afternoon and we flew to Jupiter and beyond the infinite. actually, we just went to walgreens and shopped for sunglasses for about twenty minutes. i don’t know. but we both got new sunglasses. then we just had to go somewhere where there would be sun so we could put our new purchases to work and the only place we could think of was the beach. so we went to the Fort. and walked. and talked. and balked at stuff. and ate chalk. and socks. full of sand.

Tori holding the Fort

next we went to the Mission, a place i’m starting to literally fall in love with. it gives off pheromones or something. Tori wanted a goddamn good burrito so i took no chances and took her to a place i had just confirmed as divine on saturday with Rachel: El Farolito. that time i had a super burrito de lengua, this time i had a super burrito de chorizo. for some reason it was much smaller this time, but i made up for it by eating the rest of Tori’s. (girls.)

stuffed, we drove over to Dolores and lay in the leaving sun while listening to Flying Lotus masturbate about Los Angeles from Tori’s iPod Touch. it got cold quick, though, and we still had an hour to kill before the Eagle Tavern show, so we went to Dog Eared to read for awhile. i picked up Ambrose Bierce’s Devil’s Dictionary for 60¢ (i told myself to not spend any money on books, but a classic for under $1 is irresistible). Tori bought a cool Billy Collins book, leaving the O’Hara because she “can just listen to me talk.” i’m blushing.

saw Oh Sees again last night! after i see them on saturday at serra bowl (wtf?) i’ll have seen them eight times, the same number of times i’ve seen my ALL TIME FAVORITE BAND EVER IN THE WHOLE UNIVERSE (nin). and seeing as how them there Nails ain’t tourin’ no more (supposedly), i’ll definitely surpass those eight for good once i see Thee Oh Sees maybe in august and if not then sometime else (unless John Dwyer decides to make yet another band).

Oh Sees opened for this Australian garage punk rock band, Eddy Current Suppression Ring, the band Tori really came to see. after having just watched Thee Oh Sees, it took me a few Eddy songs to adjust to their sound, but by the end i was rocking my face off. got nice and sweaty. again. drove home with my shirt off, a beautiful dark-haired girl at my side, and a 90mph wind in our faces.

made sure to download Eddy today. speaking of, i added a bunch of music recently:

Andre Ethier – On Blue Fog (2007)
Crystal Castles – Crystal Castles (2008)
Eddy Current Suppression Ring – Rush to Relax (2010)
Fela Kuti – Alagbon Close (1974)
Fela Kuti – Why Black Men Dey Suffer (1970)
Fly Pan Am – Fly Pan Am (1999)
Fleming and John – The Way We Are (1999)
Jefferson Airplane – Bless Its Pointed Little Head (1969)
HEALTH – Get Color (2009)
Nancy Elizabeth – Battle and Victory (2007)
The Pogues – Rum Sodomy & the Lash (1985)
Yanni – Live at the Acropolis (1994)

most of these were recommendations from strangers on the Internet. the Yanni might make sense if you go here. Adam gave me (and Tori) the gift of Fly Pan Am, this amazing post-rock band.

i haven’t been really listening to any of that lately though. if you want to know my recent obsession (and don’t ever check my Facebook or 6stars), just press play.

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