My flight to Tennessee left this past Friday, the 26th of April. I intended to stay through the weekend – I not only wanted some time to see what Nashville had to offer (having never been there), but I was also hesitant to book a flight for the same day as the show. With the sort of poor luck that follows me around, I fully expected to hit a massive flight delay at some stage of my trip, and I wasn’t about to have it interfere with my ability to get to the venue when the doors had opened. Happily, I landed in Nashville without a single problem, whether owing to good fortune or simply giddy excitement. I stayed at the Nashville Airport Marriott, which was a much, MUCH nicer hotel than I had anticipated. To my profound relief, the kitchen was still open when I checked in at 11 PM, and I was able to savor not only a fine local brew (a Jackalope Maple Brown) but also a sumptuous Carolina-style BBQ pulled pork sandwich. I went to bed a happy man.

I woke the next morning to the chill of a cold front and the sound of pouring rain. I had, of course, checked the local weather before packing my bags for Nashville… but in between then and Saturday morning, a powerful system had rolled in across the Southeast US, leaving me without much in the way of cold weather gear and without a weatherproof jacket.  I contemplated my difficulties over a stack of pancakes in the hotel restaurant, watching TV as Nashville natives padded through the city streets in a storm-soaked marathon scheduled for that day. I envied them their willingness to splash around in the rain, but I was unwilling to catch a cold before going to see the big show. I passed most of the morning reading one of my favorite books and simply enjoying the exquisite accommodations.

Shortly passed noon, however, the rain began to clear up, and I resolved to make at least some small attempt at seeing what Nashville had to offer. I departed for the Parthenon, a Nashville oddity that fit right in line with my extension appreciation for classical civilization. The building – a to-scale complete reconstruction of  the Athenian temple bearing the same name – had been built for a celebration in Nashville back in the late 1800s, and still stands today.

I ducked inside just as the rain began again. Happily, the underbelly of the temple is a museum – dedicated to cataloging the fair which the Parthenon was raised for, the process that was used to recreate such a monument, and the gradual restoration of the building over  the past century. There was also a couple of art galleries – one lovely and pastoral, while the other was eccentric and disposable.

Top-side was the interior of the temple, housing a colossal statue of Athena herself, albeit not in as graceful a form as Greek statuary is usually considered. My lady of wisdom honestly looks a bit gaudy, but I suppose that’s a goddess’s prerogative.

I was much more pleased with the work in the room behind the main hall – restorations of the East and West Pediments of the temple. One famously portrays the birth of Athena, born full-grown and resplendent from the head of Zeus – the other shows Athena and Poseidon vying for control over Athens, as they were wont to do.

Seeing all of this was profoundly enjoyable, but there was only so much to see and do at the temple before I was done, and faced with the problem of the pouring rain. I’d taken a taxi to the museum to begin with, and was loathe to call another one having only been to one place in all of Nashville. I was eager to try and find some notable eatery while I was in town, anyway. I weighed my options in  the museum gift shop as I leafed through expensive T-shirts. After buying a pair of postcards for my parents, I decided to hike a mile through the rain to Sub Stop, an exceptionally high-rated location that had the advantage of being close at hand – and open! I was still leery of catching a cold, but having just soaked in the grandeur of Athens, I felt ready to take on anything. I sang through the rain as I tromped my way through Nashville, passing by Vanderbilt University. The ever-present hilliness of the city reminded me of my Asheville trip – I was grateful that my path took me mostly downhill.

Sub Stop is, as you would probably expect, a diner that specializes in submarine sandwiches. I have the pleasure of confirming that their sandwiches are very high quality – not gourmet, no fancy flavors, nothing weird going on – simply fresh, hearty flavors prepared by people who appreciate what makes a sandwich good. I had an Italian after a good chat with the guy behind the counter. A staple of Southern cuisine? Maybe not – but it hit the spot after stamping through the cold rain, and I’d go back any time I was hungry.

I would’ve liked to have seen more of the city’s attractions, but I needed to dry off and warm up after being in the rain, so I returned swiftly to the hotel and did just that, puttering around until it was time to head back out to Mercy Lounge on Cannery Row, a mean-looking alley near Nashville’s downtown.

The incliment weather was no barrier for the Protomen’s audience. By the time I arrived, there was already a substantial line waiting to get in, and it grew three or four times as long after I’d entered the queue. I struck up a conversation with a few people close at hand, and learned that I was by far not the only one who’d traveled far for the show. The Protomen don’t seem to have “casual” listeners – you either don’t listen to them, or you’re entranced by what they do. (More on why in a little bit.) Once the doors were open, the line surged in, eager to get the party started.

And it was a party. I was presented with a party hat as I offered my ticket for entry. There was a giant cardboard cake. There was also a giant actual cake, with ice cream, for anyone who wanted some. An inebriated-looking clown waited nearby, offering balloon animals dicks to anyone and everyone that passed by. Best of all, there was free face painting for anyone who wanted it – an appropriate staple for a band that’s half covered in silver and black facepaint themselves. I asked for an “M” in the style of Turbo Lover’s “W” (Turbo Lover being the bassist – did I also mention that the Protomen go entirely by pseudonyms tailored to their on-stage personas? There’s a lot going on with these people.)

I thought it turned out pretty good. What do you think?

The opening acts got underway, featuring both a local group called Hanzelle that I honestly didn’t much listen to, and an longtime Protomen-companion group that I really enjoy known as Makeup and Vanity Set. I enjoyed another local brew – another brown ale called Dos Perros – while jockeying for a good place to stand for the whole of the Protoset.

I should say a few words about what the Protomen do, and why I’ve come to appreciate them so much. There are lots of “video game music” acts out there, but predominantly, they take video game soundtracks and cover it or rearrange it some way – which is plenty entertaining. The Protomen are entirely different, in that they write entirely original material – rock opera, in fact – based very loosely on the original Mega Man games for the NES. The association is incredibly loose, existing entirely as an alternative story using some of the same characters, with entirely rewritten characterizations and events.

All that said – you probably wouldn’t even necessarily get “video game” out of what you were seeing if you simply watched them perform for a minute or two. They have a big, robust sound – the result of nearly a dozen extremely talented musicians on stage at once. Electronic noise and powerful guitar rhythms channel a lot of their flavor, but so too do incredible vocal performances (from multiple band members, but most notably from frontman Raul Panther), elaborate stage theatrics (fully face-masking helmets, arm cannons, and on-stage battles are regular sights, depending on what song’s being played), and unbridled energy from both the band and the crowd that follows their every move. All of this simply underlines an incredibly high level of talent and dedication to quality on stage from every band member. These are consummate professionals up on stage pretending to be robots, and their dedication to their craft shone out like a beacon in the night.

The Protomen took to the stage with a celebration fit for a band’s 10th birthday – band member  (mascot? roadie? hype man?) KILROY – clad in serial killer jump suit and gloves and stoic metal face mask leapt out of the cardboard cake seen at the party’s entryway, and got the crowd raring for a fight. One brave warrior filmed the entire show, and you can catch a brief cameo from yours truly in the opening seconds to this first video, featuring KILROY’s opening hype and the song that got the entire band started in the first place, the spectacularly silly (but no less epic) “Due Vendetta”:

And so the night began, with killer licks from the Protomen’s own work, interspersed with some outstanding covers – notably “Easy Lover” from Phil Collins, and a glorious rendition of “Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)” by Journey as part of their encore. For two hours, they ruled the world from their stage. And the crowd loved them for it – as I indicated earlier, there are no “casual” Protomen fans. Every person in the crowd screamed along to each song. Every warrior in the assembly pumped their fist in the air to the robotic chant at the tail end of “Will of One,” and likewise cried out the anthem of “The Fall” as Act 2 came to its explosive conclusion. The Gambler positively owned every note of the as-yet unnamed song from the Protomen’s eventual “Act 3″ release, while fan favorite Turbo Lover (he of the wily “W”) let loose with “The Hounds.”

It was a spectacular night for everyone, filled with song, cake, and balloons. I was enormously pleased to have made the trip – it delivered in every way that I had hoped that it would. The minor hiccups of getting home – a long wait in the rain after the show to get a taxi, and a three-hour delay at Atlanta airport on my way home – were trivial compared to the tremendous satisfaction of having seen such a killer show. It was more fun that I’ve had in years – and what’s more, the creative competency on display was positively inspiring.

After all – ten years ago, group of people set out to dress up like robots and sing rock ‘n roll songs about Mega Man. It must’ve sounded like just as ridiculous an idea ten years ago as it does now. And somehow, it works. It really works. Who’s to say what else is possible?

Pullo heard the sounds and went back to sleep. I was on the verge of doing the same, but Rorschach’s origin story rattled around in my brain: the murder of Kitty Genovese, supposedly overheard by dozens of bystanders but unresponded-to. Moral obligation drove me to toss on some jeans and a shirt, grab my keys, and lurch down to the parking lot to see just what was going on.

By now, the shouts had stopped, and their source was not apparent. Some other neighbors stood in front of the next building over – including a lady. I approached carefully, uncertain whether or not this had been the caller in the dark. She was not – rather, she was a neighbor who’d been the subject of a more insistent call to adventure from the shouting hooligan: apparently, the now-missing miscreant had pounded on this lady’s door and warned of a bomb in the neighborhood. Given the all-to-recent Boston Marathon bombings (and the close-at-hand West, TX tragedy), this was grave news, especially from the mouth of a crazy person. The cops had been called, and were already on their way.

At this point, the neighbor – who I now saw was clutching a baseball bat – asked if I hadn’t seen the crazy lady myself, given that she’d disappeared down a hallway… into my own apartment building.

Ah, hell, thinks I, My door’s still unlocked. I intended to wait for the cops and see how things played out, but I didn’t want a crazy person going into my apartment and screwing around with my puppy. I headed back upstairs for a moment to lock the door.

The key was literally mid-turn when she rounded the corner of the hallway of the third floor and approached me. Mid-20s, not wearing clothes that were especially good or bad. Arms covered in godawful tattoos – not individually artistically ugly, but mashed-together assemblies of text and tribal designed. I think one forearm sported a list of the seven deadly sins – literally a list, just center-aligned across the inside of her arm in Times New Roman. No phone, no purse – just an electronic cigarette clutched in one hand.

She was high out of her mind. She had more physical poise than a drunk person – if she’d achieved her state of crazy with alcohol, then she wouldn’t be able to stand up straight. She seemed to be able to stand up just fine, but the words that vomited forth from her mouth were batshit levels of bizarre – she was looking for a friend, she was meeting up with some people, her cousin had been a minute away from the Boston Marathon bombings, such and such. What she wanted from me was unclear – at this point, I think she was just happy to have someone to talk to.

I kept her at arms length – she didn’t look like much of a threat, but with crazies, you never know. Furthermore, I wanted to get back to the parking lot, now that my door had been locked. I kept the conversation going as I moved to the stairs. She followed me lazily, spouting lies and then glancing at me to see if I’d bought it. At a certain point, it dawned on her that I knew exactly what was going on, and had no intention of helping her out with a money or a ride or a place to crash – but still she followed.

As we moved to the second floor, I saw the neighbor from across the way looking up into the stairway. I think she saw my eyes – I lifted my eyebrows high and mouthed “HELP!” as best as I could.

First floor. I could hear the cops arriving. I started toward the parking lot.

The cops, guns drawn, rushed right past us. I was so shocked that they hadn’t noticed me and the crazy person next to me that I wasn’t sure what to do or say. The neighbor with the baseball bat, thankfully, had the presence of mind to cry out: “Officers! That’s her!”

Suddenly, there are guns pointed at me. I’m surprised for a half-second. Then I realize: Ah, right. I am standing next to a bomb-threat crazy person. I put my hands in the air.

“Lie down on the ground!’ comes the command, but I’m already on my way to my knees. I lie down spread-eagle, keeping my head up so I can watch what’s going on. Firmly but not cruelly, I’m handcuffed and frisked by an officer who asks after the contents of my pockets. As I tell him where my phone and my keys are, I can see that the crazy lady is being likewise detained. She is protesting a great deal more than I am.

The next half an hour is a verbal rendition of what I’ve written already – I told the cops what’d happened, and how I came to be in the presence of this knucklehead. She of course began lying to the cops in the hopes of escaping whatever was in store for her, telling them that she’d been with me for hours. Of course, she was unable to produce my name. She retaliated with a bigger, better lie – I had a bomb in my apartment, and I was waiting to use it. I happily invited the cops to check my apartment on their own, and offered them the pocket with the keys in it. (The officer “rolled” the keys to the top rather than plunging a hand inside. Classy!)

A swift scan of my apartment revealed no improvised explosive devices. One officer identified an awesome looking Judge Dredd helmet (from my ’12 Halloween costume) and cheerfully told me how cool it was. In fact, once the cops were past the initial scare of “is there a bomb here?”, most of them were quite friendly. They even spoke kindly of my cute puppy, who I’m sure was quite excited by the arrival of several uniformed strangers.

Once my apartment was completely clear, they removed the cuffs and thanked me for my cooperation. I didn’t give an official statement, and while the intoxicated lady was clearly taken away in a squad car, I’m not certain whether she was charged with a crime of some kind, or what she would’ve been charged with for falsely reporting a bomb threat. I’m hopeful that she doesn’t remember how to get to my apartment and repay me for my kind manner any time in the near future.

I’ve updated the blog with some of my work from years past that I felt was still worth sharing.

I went to Arkansas this past weekend for the 10th Annual OneUp Studios BBQ. OneUp Studios is a home-grown business out of Fayetteville headed up by this guy named Mustin. The idea was to make CDs covering video game music – both by his band, a jazz/funk set known as The OneUps, and by other performers under the umbrella name “Bad Dudes” – and sell ‘em to the people that wanted ‘em. It’s worked pretty well – they’ve released some great albums (CHRONOTORIOUS being perhaps my favorite.) In celebration of their success and in appreciation of those fans that have been a part of the community for so long, they do an annual BBQ out in the hills.

I’d gone to one such event about five or six years ago, and had a good time. I’d fallen out of the community a bit since then, but since moving to Texas – closer to the band than I’d been previously – I decided I was going to try to make the trip this year.

The drive from Austin to Fayetteville is almost exactly 9 hours without any major breaks, and is by and large very boring. North Texas and East Oklahoma are berefit of interesting natural sites. The highway had a lot of gridlock – particularly around the Dallas area. Dallas itself is awful to drive through. The only nice thing to say about the drive at all was that Arkansas itself is very nice looking – huge valleys, beautiful forests, and majestic hills.

Friday night, there was a show scheduled for The OneUps and several other game-related musical acts to play at the Smoke and Barrel, a bar set smack in the middle of downtown Fayetteville. Fayetteville itself is a university town, and while the downtown area had lots of college-dive places, the overall atmosphere was very chic – lots of red brick and old-fashioned looking street lights. Considering that the rest of the city looks a bit like a hamlet, I was delighted.

Adding to my delightment was the scene that I found at the meet-up place before the show - Hammontree’s Gourmet, a grilled-cheese diner. I’d expected to meet only a couple of other people from the community there beforehand, but happily, the entire crew seemed to have showed up in order wine and dine before the bands left to get their gear ready. I was happy to see that more than a couple of people recognized who I was from my previous visit, and I met a number of new people, many of whom I knew by reputation, including a band from Austin called the Descendants of Erdrick who’d played back at the IGDA Picnic a couple of weeks ago. I actually knew a surprising number of the people there simply by name… I can’t tell if that made me seem interesting or creepy. People kept talking to me, so I guess it didn’t quite matter.

As the bands left to set up, I and some of the other non-performers went to occupy ourselves for a short time at a dive bar around the corner noteworthy for having free-to-play arcade games and enormously over-sized Jenga blocks. It wasn’t long, though, until we went up a block to the Smoke in order to get ready for the evening’s show.

The Smoke couldn’t have been more perfect for this kind of niche event. It was small, so it had an intimate atmosphere, but it was well-divided into distinct areas so that it was easy to move around and find a place to occupy – even with the band equipment taking up one corner of the building and the merch table taking u another corner. There were lots of staffers working, and all of them were attentive and helpful. It was even well-situated in its little nook of downtown – it had enough room for the out-of-town fans, plus the regulars (who were of course bewildered at all the video game tee-shirt wearing people in their joint), AND anyone who happened to wander past and hear the music playing.

Once the music did get going, it was really hard not to pay attention. Most of the members of Those Who Fight opened the set, with some original pieces and some surprise performances – including a cover of my favorite Final Fantasy 9track, the FF8 closing theme, a medley of songs from FF7, (which opened with Cid’s Theme, which I immediately texted to what few members of the Rocket Town forums I still keep in contact with.) You can actually totally hear me do a shout out during the FF7 set – do you get my funny reference? (The band did!)

There was also totally a mashup of Kylie Minogue’s “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” and one of the Final Fantasy 8 battle themes. It’s true! Watch the video! Did I mention that one incredible hero was taking video of all of the performances? Thank you, Jason Roop! Here’s the full video of Most Of Those Who Fight’s performance.

I was delighted to get to meet most of the band afterwards and talk about music and… stuff. Much to my regret, I didn’t get to see a “proper” Those Who Fight performance, featuring their Final Fantasy 6-inspired Rock Opera set – they were taking off as soon as the show was over in order to make the long trek back to Austin to play the last show of their tour on Saturday! I made sure to grab a swag pack from the merch table.

Brentalfloss – aka Brent Black – is a video game musician / comedian who I’ve been listening to for years, and I’d been really looking forward to seeing the dude live, but some airline difficulties led to his not being able to make the Arkansas show. He was classy enough to record a quick apology video detailing the situation to those of us in Fayetteville. (You can also see Mustin doing some Master of Ceremonies stuff in the video below. Guy cracks me up.) I’ll have to look forward to seeing him some other time.

Lucio Baldomero was up next, performing a set of rap songs based around video game hooks. I missed the first half of this since I was chatting with the first group outside, but I was glad to catch the rest – I’d never seen Lucio perform before, and it was a treat to watch the man at work.

The OneUps actually had released a brand new album full of new material about a month ago. This was not known to me, and I loved every bit of it, frantically texting each new video to friends in Orlando that I knew would still be cruising around downtown. A little TMNT, a little Battletoads, some Toe Jam and Earl, and a funk-credible cover of the final boss music from FF7. My only regret during their set was that I couldn’t get anyone to dance with me. Entirely too many people were way too willing to just chill in place! This is a JAM, girl! Come on down and dance!

The Descendants of Erdrick wrapped the night, and they absolutely destroyed. I was psyched to see them play again after having seen them play at the IGDA event, but seeing them at this venue made a huge difference. The crowd was infinitely more excited, and the band fed on that energy. They rocked the house with some Metroid, some Chrono Trigger, some Zelda II, and literally shut the bar down with an incredible Final Fantasy 4 medley. I can’t do their set any justice, I’m really good at writing stuff. Just watch.

It was a night of incredible performances, and I was sorry to have it end.

The next day, I slept in until, like … noon.

Once I finally managed to roll out of bed onto the floor, I circled around Fayetteville collecting Bloody Mary ingredients before arriving at the home that this year’s BBQ was being hosted it. The house itself was absolutely lovely, and not only were many of the event’s guests already there, but there was a bunch of friends, family, and a lot of dogs! There were at least seven or eight dogs running around this event.

Photo taken by Dale North.

I had a blast just sitting around and shooting the shit with people, all the while enjoying the sensation of sitting outside in weather that wasn’t 100 degrees (a commodity not currently found in Austin.) All manner of nonsense was talked about – favorite places to eat, ridiculous old Adult Swim TV shows, some of the better comedians of our times, chiptunes, and more.

I badly regretted having to take off from the BBQ relatively early in the evening (9 PM!) but I planned on leaving Fayetteville pretty early in the day on Sunday, so an early night’s sleep was necessary.

It was a terrific trip. It feels redundant to say over again that it was great to reconnect with old friends and meet new ones, but that was exactly what I’d hoped to get out of this adventure – and I got it! Having lived a life of unreasonable expectations that’ve been pounded down by disappointment, I count it as a win.

Saturday was another day of adventure. It started, as promised, with a drive back to Potrero Hill, where I found out there was a 45 minute wait to get a table for three at Plow. In the small, already-busy dining room, I told the server to put the name down as “McLeod.” Much to my amusement, she misheard me and asked to confirm: “Kyle?” – my sister’s name. I corrected the server, and then marched down the street towards where Matt and Danielle had gone to park the car.

We spent about a half an hour in Farley’s, a coffeeshop that completely nails what it is that people most often want in a coffeeshop. As we sipped some well-brewed java, we played a card game called Guillotine: a card-collecting game where you race to execute the most prestigious nobles in French Revolution-era aristocracy. It was a close game.

As soon as the game was done, we changed our seats at the coffeehouse for seats outside Plow, where another dozen or so people were also waiting for tables. Unlike the day before, there were a number of tables set up out on the sidewalk in addition to those in the dining room. We wound up getting one of these, which was okay as far as weather and table space were concerned – even with three gourmands sitting at a table meant for two – but San Francisco is nothing if not angled, and Potrero Hill is no exception. Every item that was set on the table had a brief moment of sliding downhill before friction brought it to an uneasy halt. It was a thrilling element that I’m not used to in my brunches.

“The” Plow was my choice of dish for this visit – a platter of silver dollar pancakes, eggs over easy, bacon, and crispy potatoes. It was utterly delectable. Danielle shared a taste of her Andouille sausage, which was equally amazing.

Obviously, we needed ice cream afterwards. This time, we headed to Humphrey Slocombe, a plain-looking creamery in the heart of the Mission, surrounded by Mexican diners and Aztecan murals. Whereas Bi-Rite’s lure was quality, Humphrey’s relied a little more on eccentricism with its flavors. I sampled one flavor whose name escapes me that was Coca-Cola and red wine. Another, called “Secret Breakfast,” was flavored with bourbon and corn flakes. Neither was terrible, but both were a touch too intense after a large brunch – I settled for Tahitian vanilla, probably the tamest item on the menu. It was nonetheless good.

Danielle was having a party at our mutual friend Tony’s house that evening, and there was a fair bit of preparation to do before we made our way to his place at Outer Sunset, so we dropped Danielle at the apartment to prep food while Matt and I shopped for some last minute items while doing a little more exploration of the city. The highlight of this driveabout was easily Chinatown. San Francisco’s Chinatown is renowned for being one of the largest in the US, and driving into the neighborhood feels quite literally like being transported to another world. Everything changes – not merely the signage and the language being spoken, but the density of people, the arrangement of the stores and the sidewalks, and the general fervor of the area. That said, it doesn’t feel entirely un-San Franciscan – the city is extremely diverse, but there’s a joie de vivre that the entire burg seems to share.

Back at the Laurences’, I headed up to the roof, where I’d spent quite a bit of time on my last visit. There seemed to be a local gathering up there, so I didn’t linger, but I wanted to grab a couple of snapshots from the roof. The Golden Gate Bridge, to my amusement, was completely shrouded in fog. It made for a good picture anyway.

After a few false starts – last-last minute grocery items, coffee spills, bags of ice – we set off for Tony’s. Here, I got a look at yet another slice of San Francisco. We drove through the Marina, which is far and away a more yuppie / upper-middle-class section of town, and then onwards along the coastline through what I think is known as the Sutro District. Here, San Francisco looked much more like a beach town, with 10-to-15 foot waves crashing along long stretches of sand, and strange collections of fancy waterfront property and eroded fishing shacks. We coasted past Land’s End park, and the Legion of Honor, an art museum that’s at the top of my list for places to go the next time I’m in town.

Tony’s own house was in a tastefully opulent corner of Outer Sunset. He treated me to a tour of its three floors, showing off not only his impressive weapon collections, but a Zen meditation garden, shower for beach-goers, sauna, and office. Tara, his wife, tried to riddle out where she and I had first met – we decided that it was at a party at another of Tony’s previous homes, back in Orlando. Nathan and Gillian appeared before too long, as did some friends of Matt and Danielle’s from San Francisco itself, a charming couple named Mike and Sarah. I also made great friends with Tony and Tara’s pet parrot (it’s actually some parrot variant whose name I can’t recollect) named Leopold.

The party was well-stocked. There were paninis and chips, and homemade dips, and local-brewed beers and a bottle of Merlot that I’d procured from Trader Joe’s. It was a brand I’d tried completely blindly on my last trip, and it turned out to be rather good. (I brought a bottle home with me.) We tried a number of card games, but eventually found our way outside to the fire pit, which was a delight to sit by even as the late-night mist rolled in. By the time midnight rolled around, I felt partied out, and journeyed back to my hotel.

Much to my utter dismay, I didn’t sleep a wink that night. You would think that that night, of all nights, I’d be able to catch some shut-eye, but I might as well have stayed up and watched television for all the good lying in bed did me. I wasn’t especially worried about the plane ride, but I felt really bad because I’d made plans to have breakfast with my friend Zeus, who I hadn’t seen seen since my 2004 trip to Los Angeles.

The breakfast joint was a short walk from my hotel. This bistro, Olea, had been recommended to me via the magic of social networking, by a musician whose works I’d listened to but who was nonetheless a complete stranger up until now. I thought it appropriate for a place to meet up with a friend that I’ve known since 1999 but have known primarily online. Olea was small – a tiny little room where Zeus and I sat around a large table with four other parties of two – but the food was tasty and it was great to see Zeus – we spoke about game industry jobs and his own new position. I was embarrassed at my exhaustion, however, and had to beg leave once our food was finished.

Much of the rest of the day is a blur of traveling – checking out, lounging in the hotel bar and staring at a cup of coffee, being whisked away to the airport by Matt and Danielle, and having a far better departure than the last time I’d been in San Fran. I enjoyed a decent bread bowl of clam chowder at an airport bar – it seemed like an appropriate way to say goodbye to the Bay. The day was an easy one, as traveling goes, but it was long – by the time I touched back down in Austin, it was 10:30 local time.

It was a brief vacation, but a grand one. San Francisco is a very different place from the other places I’d lived in my life, but it feels like the sort of place I could call home someday. I feel grateful to have such good friends living there, and I look forward to visiting it again.

I awoke on Friday morning to the sound of sidewalk hubbub and clanking cable cars. I’d originally planned to go to lunch with someone and then meet up with Matt to go exploring, but lunch had fallen through, so I tromped off to a destination for some morning coffee at Cheese Plus, a charming store in Russian Hill that I’d discovered on my last trip to San Fran. Cheese Plus sells not only a variety of cheeses, but also bread, wines, artisan meats, and other such accouterments for fancy occasions. They also have a terrific little espresso bar. I grabbed a quick bite – a croissant and a breakfast melt – and sipped at a latte while I took in the culture at the corner of Polk and Pacific.

Before too long, Matt was around to pick me up, and we set off for a San Francisco staple – brunch! We cruised over to Patrero Hill to wander around and admire the many options in this quiet corner of the city. While a lot of places looked tasty, I insisted that we try out Plow, a small but popular corner restaraunt. Not only did the line look good, but we had already made plans to go to Plow the next day with Danielle, and being the literal infants that we were, Matt and I were delighted by the idea of enraging her by going to Plow the day before without her. It sounded a lot funnier at the time.
The line was out the door and it looked like we were in for a half-hour wait, but a sudden vacancy meant that we could sit down right away. Having just had a bready breakfast not too long ago, I opted for a peach salad. At Matt’s recommendation, I tried a side of the crispy potatoes, which were absolutely remarkable. Plow’s potatoes are a perfect blend of crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside, and a bold rosemary flavoring gives them a distinct taste. Combined with a hot sauce-and-ketchup dip, and I’d need no other food from now ’til the day I died.

While there was lots more to see on the Hill, we were coming back the next day, so we decided to explore some more of the city. We cruised through the Mission and stopped for – what else? – more food. This time, it was at the Bi-Rite Creamery. Matt boasted that this place had some of the best ice cream in the world, and I don’t have much argument against it. I settled for a small serving – two scoops in a cup, one of salted caramel and one of roasted banana. It was a winning combination. We lounged in Dolores Park, admiring the view and wondering who all these other people were that had the middle of the day on a Friday completely free to lay around at the park.

From there, we did a bit more driving around, as well as some occasional shopping. I had to grab a pair of exercise shorts, since I’d forgotten to pack my own. Why did I need exercise shorts? Because Danielle had invited me to come along to the gym where she and her personal trainer had a Friday evening session.

The gym was pretty close to my hotel. I was concerned about catching a chill – that Thursday that I’d arrived was considerably brisk – but I was able to amble down to the gym with T-shirt and shorts without too much trouble. I carried a massive carrying-case filled with more formal clothes for the evening’s fancy dinner.

The gym – Synergy Fitness Studio – was in a small basement down the stairs from a bar in one of the busiest areas of downtown. A food truck handed out cigarette samples right outside. Inside, thankfully, was a spartan room full of free weights, exercise machines, and bizarre roll-up bars whose use I’m still not sold on. Mike, Danielle’s trainer, was a great guy who unexpectedly gave me a full session simultaneous to Danielle’s. I’d expect to just go through one of my own routines in the background of their activity, but Mike gave me his full attention and I learned a lot of new tricks. A couple exercises had me completely out of breath – but that’s sorta the point, right?

After a good hour’s worth of fitness, Danielle and I caught a bus back to their apartment and we started to get ready for our reservation at House of Prime Rib. House of Prime Rib serves a singular dish – prime rib. Having seen this fancy restaurant recommended on Mr Bourdain’s No Reservations, we were excited to attend. We met up with our friends Nathan and Gillian – also transplants from Florida – and settled in for a surprisingly long wait while our table was prepped.

The food, thankfully, was as wonderful as the company. Everyone else went gaga over the salad, but I was saving room for Yorkshire pudding, terrific mashed potatoes, the best creamed spinach I’ve ever had, and the House-sized cut (one of half-a-dozen different cuts available) of the prime rib. Danielle, of course, was treated to a birthday sundae.

It was approaching midnight by the time we were done at the restaraunt, so we piled into the back of the Laurences’ car to give Nathan and Gillian a ride to the Caltrain station before swinging by my hotel. I gratefully collapsed into bed, eager to rest up for another day of adventure tomorrow.

To be continued…

This past week, I took a couple of days off from work to take a long weekend vacation in San Francisco. A friend was having a birthday party, and I’d been looking for an excuse to revisit the Bay Area ever since first travelling there late last year. While I marked off a lot of tourist destinations last time, I wanted to spend more time with friends and soak in a little more of San Francisco’s unique cultural flavor.

I foolishly spent much of our Wednesday holiday – July 4 – at a BBQ. While I had a great time celebrating the Declaration’s two-day signing spree, I was dead tired by the time I finished packing and went to sleep in the hopes of waking up at 4:30 in the morning on Thursday to shamble my way to the airport. I’ve missed enough flights for stupid reasons to scare me into showing up early at the terminal whenever I can. Happily, Theatrhythm Final Fantasy had just come out, and I’d been waiting to play it once I made it to the airport. This handheld gem uses music from 13 of the Final Fantasy games for a fun, super-nostalgic experience. Some of the sappier songs brought tears to my eyes.

Having lived in Florida my whole life, I’m used to cross-country trips taking up the entire day, so I was really pleased with the three-hour flight time between Austin and San Francisco. I would’ve liked to catch a little bit more sleep on the plane, but no such luck. No matter – once I touched down, my friend Matt was on hand to deliver me to a surprise lunch at his wife Danielle’s office – Danielle being the aforementioned birthday girl. I had my gift in-hand: a box of chocolate Moon Pies. I don’t see the appeal, but Danielle loves them.

We headed to a sandwichery called Breaking Bread for lunch, and I got my first dose of San Francisco downtown wanderings for the trip. Having lived in small towns or college bergs my whole life, I’m still prone to the farm-boy reaction of staring up at the great heights in true cities. San Francisco has plenty to see on the ground too, though, and lots of food around every corner. I had a delectable BBQ chicken sandwich. We talked a lot about how great Community is.

After lunch, Matt dropped me off in Nob Hill. I checked into the Stanford Court Renaissance Hotel, a cousin of the Renaissance Arts Hotel that I’d stayed at in New Orleans a couple of months back. I was early, and so got moved to a slightly different room than I’d expected. “It has a walk-in shower,” the receptionist frowned. I didn’t see the problem – until I arrived, and realized it was a wheelchair access shower. Not a problem, but different. I was grateful that the shower-head was detachable since, as far as I can tell, all San Francisco showers have godawful water pressure. The room was nice but unaccustomed as I am to mid-day naps AND busy city streets (with regular cable cars for good measure,) I didn’t really get much rest.

My day wasn’t over, though – I’d arranged a get-together with my friends Jeffrey and James, who I’ve known since the late 90s thanks to Internet tomfoolery and fandom of video games. I was glad we’d kept in touch through college and the years that had followed, but I’d never managed to meet up with them until now. Having done a lot of meet-ups with folks that I’ve met online, I was rightfully anxious. Awkwardness or false impressions aside, we could be completely normal people and simply not “get” each other once we made face-to-face contact.

I didn’t have much time to worry about these issues once I headed out to meet them, because my phone’s walking directions took me on a dark errand. I was in Nob Hill, and I was meeting them in Hayes Valley at a food truck spot for dinner. Little did I realize that my route would take me straight through the Tenderloin – a neighborhood more akin to an asylum than anything else. I have no issues with low income neighborhoods and feel like I can handle myself suitably well in unfamiliar territory. But the Tenderloin is home to some truly demented people. I’m talking about people literally screaming at the top of their lungs out on the sidewalk. I’m not exaggerating when I say I encountered at least half a dozen people that fit that description, screaming not at one another or at any shared target. They were simply screaming. I hurried on my way.

Hayes Valley was considerably more welcoming, as were Jeff and James. We hit it off immediately, sharing some great food truck consumables from Off The Grid while sitting at the adjacent Biergarten. Amidst fine German ale, steak sandwiches, and Indian masala burritos, we talked about Brave, Breaking Bad, and got spontaneously asked to complete a survey by an architecture student – from Austin!

When the food was done and the wind was picking up, we adjourned to Jeffrey’s close-at-hand apartment where he and his terrific fiance Anna had some leftover ice cream cake from yesterday’s Independence Day festivities. We ate cake and admired their wonderful view while reminiscing about other people from the online “scene,” movies, and web design errata.

I wish I could’ve spent hours more hanging out, but my body was threatening to shut down on the spot. I bid them good night, made my way up Van Ness (neatly avoiding walking back through the Tenderloin after nightfall,) and passed out at the hotel.

To be continued . . . 

A couple of weeks ago, I was on my way to a Saturday evening get-together when I happened to hear a captivating young singer on the radio. Her name was Sarah Jarosz, a folk/bluegrass singer, songwriter, and “multi-instrumentalist.” She was playing live for a radio show before going to a festival in Austin that same evening. Seeing as I already had plans for that Saturday, I wasn’t able to hear her that same day, but I resolved to see if she had any more tour dates.

Sure enough, it turned out she had a May 5 show at the New Orleans. New Orleans was a bit of a drive, but I didn’t have any other plans, and I was eager for an adventure. Plus, none of her other tour dates for the rest of the year would bring her anywhere close to my part of the country. I decided to make a weekend of it!

The drive is a long one – a 9-hour trip going or coming, and a total of 1050 miles from my driveway to the street where my hotel was, and back. It gave me another chance to take in the expanses of East Texas and Louisiana, although cruising through Houston is an experience that I could probably could’ve missed.

I stayed at the Renaissance Arts Hotel New Orleans, directly adjacent to the French Quarter. Considering how close it was to my destinations (10 minutes to the venue, and 5 minutes the other direction to a restaurant I intended to visit), it was well worth splurging for a night’s stay. The hotel itself was quite nice – I think that the experiences of having stayed in $30/night hotels and business-trip accommodations has given me a keen sense of what’s most appreciable about hotel rooms. A comfortable bed, a nice bathroom, a working set of curtains, and thick walls – and this room had them.

I valet’d my car, got changed, and headed to Cochon Butcher - a mere five minutes’ walk down the same road that my hotel was on. I had visited its sibling-restaraunt, Cochon, during my trip to Austin a month ago on recommendation from a New Orleans native. Cochon was terrific, serving incredible Louisiana Cajun-style food in a classy atmosphere. Butcher is more informal, with high tops, a bar, and a meat shop all built into a snug little hole in the wall. It was no less sumptuous than its more formal neighbor. I had a Cochon Muffaletta sandwich with assorted meats alongside homemade potato chips. Sadly, the sandwich didn’t survive its life on the plate long enough to get a picture. I did snap a shot of my “Pink Moustache,” a sweet cocktail including limeade, Creole Shrubb liqueur, strawberries, black pepper, and pisco (a grape brandy – I had to look it up.)

Following dinner, I immediately trotted down to the French Quarter, which was busier than normal (or so I’m told) because it was Jazz Fest weekend. The House of Blues’ taproom was a small venue for a small show, and it was Standing Room Only by the time Miss Jarosz and her accompanying bandmates – cellist Nathaniel Smith and fiddler Alex Hargreaves, both of whom I believe attend school in Boston with Sarah J. Both gentlemen were masters of their craft, but Sarah had full command of the stage. She was right at home behind the microphone, whether strumming an acoustic guitar, banjo, or – mandolin? I think it was a mandolin.

They performed two sets, both including hits from both of Sarah’s two albums (which I’d heard before, but picked up while I was there). Some of the best included “Run Away,” “Annabelle Lee,” inspired by the works of Poe, a cover of Dylan’s “Ring Them Bells,” and a surprise encore covering – believe it or not, “Crazy” by Gnarls Barkley. None of those links are video of the performance that I attended, but a couple feature her bandmates from the Orleans show.

I hoped to shake her hand and thank her for such a terrific performance, but didn’t have the chance. It was late, and I had more driving to do in the opposite direction the next day, so I called it a night.

The next morning was a lazy one. Check out wasn’t until noon, giving me time to simply laze around at the rooftop pool (where I snapped the accompanying picture) as well as the steam room (which was okay, but not terrific, although it might have been because I was in a rush.) After wrapping up my business at the front desk, I picked up a pork belly and cucumber sandwich to go at the Butcher and headed down the road, with my newly purchased CDs ready and waiting in the stereo.

It was a long ways to go for a relatively small amount of fun, but I think it was the first of many such impromptu adventures to come.