I gotta say, San Trancisco has quite a bit of interestingness going for it. Other than exploring my adopted culture in its massive Chinatown, I ate the legendary “In and Out Burger” and visited the “hippy town” (since when did a Ben and Jerry’s and a headshop justify tourist-spot status?). Picked up a copy of “The Alphabet of Manliness” by Maddox. I whacked it in Tironius’s bathroom (he’ll read this after I’m safely aboard my flight). I drank tons of coffee and took naps to fight jet lag.

I talked with strangers on the Muni, the public transit system here. One guy in a suit lugging multiple duffel bags told me “My greatest joy will be killing my enemy” before asking me “Son, have you ever stepped on a land mine? It’s hell!” Another, perhaps seven-foot-tall and pear-shaped, shouted at me, “I’d like your professional opinion on that!” Of course what “that” was wasn’t quite clear. I’d been a good distance away and no dialogue lead up to this outburst. Obviously he didn’t know my only profession is slacking.

A bunch of Asian kids encircled a statue dedicated to some local war heroes and shouted a fraternity pledge. Most of them were female, except for a girly guy who looked like the chief from “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” He told me what they were doing, then turned and ran away, belting out a “Bye!” over his shoulder like a Cinderella at midnight.

Some guy beckoned me from the urinal of a restaurant. In my small talk, I made the mistake of implying I’d gone to college. He wanted me to set up shop selling mortgages under him. I guess he saw some potential in me for pushing poor people further into debt. I don’t mean to pass judgment. Oops, I already did.

Lastly, I’ve gotta say. The Asian chicks in this city love their massive sunglasses. It’s like watching Elton John sneer and brush past in a high heel strut everytime I ignore their chunky arms and thighs and gawk down their massive puddles of cleavage. You’d think they’d thank me for that instant of attention they seem so desperate for.