So I caved in and got an iPod video - my first iPod ever. It's black, 30GB, and awesome. Seriously. It can do things like impress my friends, seduce women, or play music videos, movies, or TV shows on its tiny little color screen. It can hold an estimated 600 CDs all the while telling off-color jokes that make you laugh uncomfortably. It does it all. Thin and simple and elegant, it's pretty much faboo - even despite the fact that I've discovered several ways to crash its rather oversimplified interface. Like plugging it up to download songs while its playing something. It froze up and wouldn't even turn off. Yeah, that one took about fifteen minutes of frantic button pushing leading to owner's manual reading for me to it all figure out.
In other news, today may mark the return of Kevin Haynes to the blog scene. Writer of fiction, digger of graves, and hater of Lake Charles, Louisiana, Kevin is a great friend and an even better foosball player. While admitting his desire to do so, Kevin has not posted in months, and this will hopefully force him. Either that or make me a liar.
Either way, Kevin is in town visiting his older brother in San Mateo (about twenty mins outside the city), and the last two days we've been taking in/on the City by the Bay like Kerouac and Cassady, but without whatever homoerotic innuendoes that might imply. Last night's adventures consisted of a bar in the Inner Sunset District, followed by a walk around the Cliffhouse. Tonight we went out to Pier 39 (home of belching and barking sea lions), Fisherman's Wharf (across from Alcatraz and the Golden Gate), Lombard Street (the crookedest road in the world), and ended up in North Beach. It was there we came across a wonderful little bar called Vesuvio next to City Lights bookstore at the corner of Columbus Avenue and a side-street called Jack Keroauc Alder. The bar's absoultely great. Pictures of Beat Generation writers hang everywhere, jazz music plays on the radio, and in the various nooks and crannies, conversation takes place. Large glass windows allow you to look out into the cityscape and witty quotes sit above the bottles of liquor behind the bar, urging you to indulge. One can even choose to sit up in the balcony, taking in the entirety of the scene.
Kevin and I ordered drinks at the bar and wondered aloud if Kerouac himself had been there before. We tilted them back and agreed that he probably had. He probably had.
My time at Vesuvio marks the first night in San Francisco in the two and a half months here where I've had a "moment" - one of those times when you feel there's nothing better than being alive right here and now, where you are. It was nice and warm and tingly, like standing next to a fireplace or taking a shot of cheap vodka. Ah, AristocratGordonZemkoff, how I adore thee.