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01-20-02 - 10:21 p.m. You know how after a vacation there's this mixed feeling you get, like you're sad to be leaving but at the same time, you're really happy to finally be going home? Well, I'm not happy to be home at all. I took very little with me on the plane into Oakland�my guitar, my camera, my cell phone, and my wallet (for identification purposes). Yes, I play the guitar. Not well, but I suppose that isn't really the point. Rob taught me the fingerings, Leif how to better read chord charts and tablatures, and now I can pretty much give off the impression that I have a clue what I'm doing. Because I'm a stingy bitch, I checked into a youth hostel, where I would spend the next several nights sleeping in a big room with 20 other cheapasses. Each night I and the two other wannabe musicians in the loft serenaded the rest of the crew, Joey on bongo, Eric on harmonica, myself on guitar. That was pretty cool. Anyway, I spent most of my time down in Fisherman's Wharf chatting it up with the street performers. I jammed with this one blues guitarist�he rocked my world. I called Leif, who may well be the next Joe Satriani, to let him listen in for a bit. The dude's name was Jim. Good name, Jim. I ended up buying a couple shirts, but spent my entire few days in the same pair of jeans, opting to sleep in my underwear. I had nobody to impress, no reason to look good for anyone. I didn't drive down Lombard street, but I did eat at Scoma's. I didn't go to the Cable Car Museum, but I rode a few. I went to Alcatraz but not Muir Woods. Most of my time was spent on Fisherman's Wharf, though. There was this steel drum band playing the first day I went down there, headed for Pier 39 to see what all the fuss was about (I've yet to get to the bottom of that mystery) and as I stepped from the asphalt to the cement they began performing, of all things, ABBA's "Dancing Queen." Next to them was a drag queen with a beer gut. I asked her to dance with me, and though she wouldn't come down from her stand, she obliged from her post. I just fell in love with the city of San Francisco. I felt more at home there, in four days, than I ever have in the 18 years I've dwelled here. All in all, a great weekend.
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