Thizz is what it is...

My friend Junior here that I recently connected with again on my Bay Loop Tour.

Only in San Francisco...the first two episodes

You hear the phrase "Only in San Francisco" tossed around a lot, a few too many times for my taste. Overuse starts to give it a ring that sounds precious to me. I will admit, however, that there are times when it does apply.
I was walking on a sunny day in North Beach one weekday afternoon, and to my complete surprise, I saw the guys from the Fruit of the Loom commercials in full fruit costumes, rolling down the street in a low rider with the hydraulics jacking up and down. Shit was over the top! I'm pretty sure the apple was driving, but I am not totally clear on that. It was like some bizarre parallel television universe all of a sudden, a casual state of affairs that got surreal, real quick.
After a look around, I located the camera crew, and a conversation with a guy waiting around on the block helped me figure out that they were in fact shooting a commercial, and that he was an extra hoping he would get chosen for some work. That helped make some sense of it, because I was in disBELEIF when I initially saw them rolling the FUCK OUT in that tricked out Impala; hitting switches on the hydraulic lifts and making the grapes on that guys purple costume shake.
Another episode of only in San Francisco comes from a former coworker who gave me his account of what he found the morning after Halloween one year, in his car. He had long since stopped locking his car doors after the windows were broken several times to break into his car. With the stereo and everything else of value removed, he hoped that leaving the doors open would help someone discover that there was nothing left worth taking, without having to smash a window to arrive at that conclusion.
It was quite the stunner to see someone in full gorilla suit passed out cold on his backseat. Some real out of context shit that just puts the mind on whirl. He stood there for an extended pause wondering what the hell it is that one does in this situation, never having been presented with it before. Before long he chose to awaken the beast with some shoves. The beast reared its head and managed a few grunts as it somewhat painfully shifted into a seated position. It looked at him with an inquisitive expression for a couple of long seconds, struggling to gain some bearings likely. It then rose up and ambled off down the street, walking the walk of the deathly hungover to some unknown destination.

Don't loan me your books!

You won’t recognize it when I am done with it. The cover will be all mutilated. The spine will be cracked, likely. There might be some writing in it. Water damage. Pages: dog eared.
I don’t want to have to replace your copy.
Knowing that your book will just come out looking a mess, you might want to reconsider loaning me that book. I’m just going to fuck it up. Shorten its lifespan at least.

Mental Vacations - Piss on Ice

A few months ago, Left Hand and his significant other dined on a Friday night at a Salvadorean Restaurant called Balompie in the Mission. While the food was spectacular, there was another equally noteworthy sensation in the mens bathroom; a trough urinal full of ice. I can’t begin to tell you how satisfying it was to melt ice upon release. The feeling was strangely calming and soothing, something I have yet to come to understand. Strange only when you think about it, but in the act it was one of the few things that momentarily made all of the sense in the world.

Coffee Strength - Crystalized and Freezedried

How many spoon fulls in YOUR Nescafe?

Toxic Bikram

Left hand performed a Bikram Yoga class the day before last for the first time in over a year. Why he elected to do it on the far side of the room directly underneath the heater is beyond even himself. Could have been a severe underestimation of the havoc between body and brain under such duress.
Imagine if you will, over a years worth of toxins coming to the surface and saying hello. Not nice. Not nice at all. Nothing nice at all to say about it, except that getting all those terrible things out means that I am on my way to feeling better. I was wholly incapacitated that night and the next day. How I dredged up the fortitude to make it to class yesterday is also beyond my personal limits of understanding. I suffered significantly less however, on the side of the room with windows. Almost as punishing without the toxic aftermath.

CORD LIFE – or… A LIFE OF CORDS

Left hand has heard other people complain about not being able to drive space cars or have a robot maid now that we have arrived in the 21st century. These are among several technologies predicted back in the forties and fifties that never came to fruition. Personally I would be happy if all existing technologies were wireless, cause in that living space we call an apartment , we have cords every-ass -mother fuckin’- where.
It is truly unfortunate that our wireless internet router requires one to plug in by way of ethernet cable in order to function, rendering it nothing in the way of wireless. What that currently means is a tenuous connection that stretches across the room. Step on the cord and you risk either pulling the router off of the coffee table or un-socketing the back end of my laptop by forced removal. The laptop of the left hand is already dying a slow to medium speed death without scoring the lead in a shit show where something bad is just bound to happen.
Computers have cords. Lots of cords. So do speakers, turntables, cd players, lamps, clock radios, blenders, toasters, coffee pots and grinders, crock pots, televisions and dvd players, shavers, converter boxes, extensions and strips.
Too many (cords) and not enough places to plug them in at (sockets).

I'm back!!!

I’m back!!! There again, you likely didn’t know that I was gone (or here in the first place?) My return to the internet is brought to you by Rohto mentholated eyedrops (you’ve tried these, right?). Suspend your disbelief for a moment in light of the fact that Rohto is wholly unawares that they are sponsoring anything on behalf of the left hand.