Pea, Cow, Apple, Garlic
The family and I travelled to the Bay Area this weekend, where we beheld many strange things.
On the way up the 5, we stopped in Santa Nella, CA, to sample the pea soup and Dutch fare of Andersen's restaurant. I ate the frikandelien, which is a relative of Ozymandias. The waitresses marvelled at the stray cat population in the parking lot; I studied the chunks in my soup dubiously.
In San Francisco we crossed over both the San Rafael and Golden Gate Bridges. No pictures survive. I could post pictures from my previous trip, but that would be disingenuous.
What a quaint provincial town is San Francisco. Just a thumb sticking up at Marin County, and only 49 square miles. Unlike Los Angeles, where we keep our homeless on Skid Row and in Santa Monica, San Francisco allows its homeless to circulate among the general population, which can be seen walking to and fro at all hours of the day.
This inevitably leads to the question, "Do you smell like urine because you're homeless or because you're an activist?"
The latter were out in force handing out informational pamphlets in advance of the November 7 election. "It's so cute that you think your vote means something," I said.
If Frisconians (as they prefer to be called, either that or North Angelenos) are not walking, they can be observed reading books on something called public transportation. This I found shocking, and I drove my SUV up and down the MUNI platform to register my protest. Oftentimes Frisconians will ride their bikes to public transportation terminals in order to exponentially increase instances of being blatantly unpatriotic.
I'd gone to San Francisco to see a show at the Cow Palace. Built to house rodeos, the venue expanded its range to include stadium rock shows and the like. I saw 80's technophile Thomas Dolby.
The inside walls of the Cow Palace are festooned with the images of California's beloved ranchers and livestock luminaries.
We also went to Cupertino so I could make a pilgrimage to the Apple campus. Despite my severely shaken trust in that company as of this past April, I still wanted to check out the Infinite Loop.
Most of my livelihood is accomplished via Apple computers, so I wanted to see where my money has been going the past 10 years.
Alas, it was a Sunday and the place was closed. The least they could have done was to outsource a tour to India.
On the way back home we stopped in Gilroy: Garlic Capital of the World. Cheerful toothless roadside stand workers happily sold me several stalks of garlic at inflated prices.
"And why am I paying 12 bucks for this?" I asked.
"Verily, city folk, it keeps vampires from thee," they said, crossing themselves.
On the way up the 5, we stopped in Santa Nella, CA, to sample the pea soup and Dutch fare of Andersen's restaurant. I ate the frikandelien, which is a relative of Ozymandias. The waitresses marvelled at the stray cat population in the parking lot; I studied the chunks in my soup dubiously.
In San Francisco we crossed over both the San Rafael and Golden Gate Bridges. No pictures survive. I could post pictures from my previous trip, but that would be disingenuous.
What a quaint provincial town is San Francisco. Just a thumb sticking up at Marin County, and only 49 square miles. Unlike Los Angeles, where we keep our homeless on Skid Row and in Santa Monica, San Francisco allows its homeless to circulate among the general population, which can be seen walking to and fro at all hours of the day.
This inevitably leads to the question, "Do you smell like urine because you're homeless or because you're an activist?"
The latter were out in force handing out informational pamphlets in advance of the November 7 election. "It's so cute that you think your vote means something," I said.
If Frisconians (as they prefer to be called, either that or North Angelenos) are not walking, they can be observed reading books on something called public transportation. This I found shocking, and I drove my SUV up and down the MUNI platform to register my protest. Oftentimes Frisconians will ride their bikes to public transportation terminals in order to exponentially increase instances of being blatantly unpatriotic.
I'd gone to San Francisco to see a show at the Cow Palace. Built to house rodeos, the venue expanded its range to include stadium rock shows and the like. I saw 80's technophile Thomas Dolby.
The inside walls of the Cow Palace are festooned with the images of California's beloved ranchers and livestock luminaries.
We also went to Cupertino so I could make a pilgrimage to the Apple campus. Despite my severely shaken trust in that company as of this past April, I still wanted to check out the Infinite Loop.
Most of my livelihood is accomplished via Apple computers, so I wanted to see where my money has been going the past 10 years.
Alas, it was a Sunday and the place was closed. The least they could have done was to outsource a tour to India.
On the way back home we stopped in Gilroy: Garlic Capital of the World. Cheerful toothless roadside stand workers happily sold me several stalks of garlic at inflated prices.
"And why am I paying 12 bucks for this?" I asked.
"Verily, city folk, it keeps vampires from thee," they said, crossing themselves.
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by Marty Barrett at Monday, October 30, 2006
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