Shug on 21/8/2008 at 07:37

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"WE'RE DOIN' IT!"
"I've done worse."

I still remember seeing the thread and thinking what a riot it would be to meet up with Dave and the gang. A few days later I decided that an impulsive overseas holiday would be just the ticket (and thank god for student flight deals).

Of course, on the 16 hour flight from Brisbane to INTERNET MEET I happened to recall just how poorly I mix with planes, but it's a bit late once you're thousands of feet in the air. For that reason I arrived sleepless in Seattle San Francisco and wondered if I was hallucinating slightly when a 4"8 customs security guard with a horrible combover appeared, ushering the queues of human traffic through in obnoxiously loud tones.

I stumbled into my first American burger joint (of many) at the airport with bleary eyes, and was sorely disappointed by a lack of grease and their terrible excuse for chips. An inauspicious start, but things picked up on the rather shabby looking BART when I spied an advertisement for the almighty Burger King - informing me that with 10 new items on their 'breakfast' menu, I could now afford to eat AND pay rent!

I found the outer suburbs fairly bleak on the whole, but the impression was alleviated by some unintentional comedy when I spotted a bus proudly displaying a large banner with an Oprah-style smiling woman and the words, "Over 90% of new HIV infections are women of color [sic]. Get tested, 'cos you're ALL that!".

It was a struggle getting my bearings at first, but eventually I was on my way to a backpacker joint named The Green Tortoise (apt considering the amount of pot smoking that went on in the common room). It was located on the mandatory Broadway street, and about half a dozen different "XXX video" signs greeted me along the road there, with the icing being a three-phase neon sign with a naked woman splaying her legs while dancing outside some dodgy looking strip club. Fortunately, equal opportunity would be satisfied when we stumbled across the Nob Hill All Male Revue at a later date. Man Fran getting it done!

I stayed at the Green Tortoise for a couple of nights, getting boozed and badly sunburnt in turn, when the big day (Thursday) arrived. Union Square was pretty warm that day from memory, so I was sporting a very shabby t-shirt, dodgy jeans and a pair of battered reef sandals when Scots made his arrival in the US of A. I'd done my homework over the last day or two so once we'd collected Stitch and RBJ (that tale already being well-documented), I led the way to an Italian place with a promising happy hour type deal. The drinking began enthusiastically (as it always does in these exciting times) and before we knew it, we were collecting Dave from his hotel which was literally over the road.

At this time we'd already properly begun the drinking and my plans to head back to the Tortoise for different clothes had been nipped in the bud. Uncle Stitch led us (after a fashion) on quite a merry pub crawl, the likes of which San Fran probably hasn't seen before - at least, not with four grown men on a Thursday afternoon (although the Nob Hill All Male Revue may have come close).

From memory, our journey consisted of a drink or two at each of:
- The Italian Overbilling Job
- Gold Dust Lounge, which was a red-velvet couch style place with a mixed crowd
- Annabelle's, a tidy place that was felt like more of a restaurant than a bar, which met with disapproval from Stitch

After Annabelle's, Stitch began following three girls that we had run into on the street, with the three of us trailing along no doubt making jokes at his expense. I have no idea what happened, but it's likely that he decided they weren't making it to a bar fast enough and so we set our sails for a different course down a side-street, leading to:

- The Bear's Head (I think), where Scots took advantage of my absence to order me a 'pink lemonade', convinced the waitress that I was gay, and she even remarked on how 'pretty' I was D:
- The Gold Lounge strip club, where the bouncer offered us a solid deal of usual entry + $20 to get me in wearing reef sandals

And then we came to some avant-garde club curiously located behind a large multi-tier parking lot. At this point, I'd worked up quite an intoxication but my years of club-going experience were telling me there's zero chance I was getting into this place wearing thongs. Of course, I did have a lawyer handy; but confusion set in when the guy at the door didn't even shoot me a second glance before waving us through. And that's how I popped up in those initial photos wearing possibly the most casual outfit ever seen in a night on the town. After a while, a drooping Scots informed me that he had to get to his hotel before he passed out (and Dave might have come with us, I honestly can't remember). While it was grossly negligent to the general public, I had to leave Stitch and RBJ to their own devices for the rest of the night.

At some point we'd dropped gear off at Stitch's coffin of a hotel room. I went trecking off again at what must have been about 2:30am, thinking I could easily find it and get the aloe vera back off him for my sunburn. About forty minutes later I gave the idea up and consoled myself with a breakfast muffin from a convenience store.

I woke up on Friday with something dead in the back of my throat. My phone had died during the night and so, swaying slightly, I dumped everything back in my suitcase and ran downstairs hoping it was still before 9am to avoid the charge for late checkout. Fortunately I made it just in time for breakfast, but I was having severe trouble keeping my eyes from gluing back to closed.

It was then off to find the Orchard Hotel honeymoon suite where Scots was presumably waiting. The guy at the front desk informed me that no Scots_Taffer was at the hotel; a puzzling development. He then brightens up and says he'll check the "other" Orchard Hotel, which is conveniently up the road. It came back affirmative, and before I could thank him, he's already pressed the phone into my hand that will connect directly to Scots' room. Death answered the phone, and he didn't sound happy. I dropped my suitcase off at the real Orchard and went in search of water and some additional rest. Union Square was already bustling; I wandered around a bit before having a flash of inspiration and heading for up-market department store Macy's. Up on the second floor they had a few couches, and I tried to look as though I was waiting for my girlfriend as a couple of Macy's employees eyed me while fixing the clothes displays. I eventually gave up on the fiction and settled in for some much-needed sleep.

Meanwhile, Scots had been roused from his stupor at the hotel and the gang was wondering where the hell I was. Nobody was answering their phones, so it was a stroke of luck that a rescue party was sent and we continued on our merry way to Chinatown to encounter the dreaded GBM and Starry. Somehow, it just made sense meeting them in the flesh in the gayest city in the world. :D

Inevitably, we eventually cracked and found a bar. With six of us at the time somewhat hesitantly entering this beer hall, it was surprising to say the least when the apparent proprietor immediately ushered us into a private part of the room sheeted off from the rest of the bar. Nobody questioned lest we be cast back into the plebian world from whence we came.

Dinner at one of the greasier Chinese restaurants in history did little to settle my stomach from a rookie lunchtime order of kung pao chicken. Given that I wasn't really going to eat much at all, I decided to cause some controversy by ordering the most ridiculous looking meal on the menu - beef and eggs. This may already have been noted, but the waiter seemed somewhat shocked and had to reconfirm the selection before taking any action.

I have very little recollection of at least one of the bars mentioned in the general recounting of Friday evening; but I will never forget the absolutely drunk bartender at HA-RA. I've never seen anything like it before nor since, and I'm sure that I got another two drinks out of him after he told us in no uncertain terms to fuck off. Pretty awesome. Apparently, we were turned away from another fine establishment enroute, which is a worthy accomplishment.

Saturday was, of course, the Real Meet.

Pier 39 was mega-touristy, and I was caught unaware by 'nachos with cheese' - which turned out to be corn chips with plastic yellow gunk slopped onto them. How is this possible? Are corn chips by themselves referred to as nachos? GET WITH THE PROGRAM AMERICA

But anyway, doctorfrog cruised in at the sea lions area, and we were all admiring the salmon burger and discussing how we would know what Fafhrd looked like - when all of a sudden, Scots stood up and pointed directly at an oncoming Faf who had given no indication of who he was. A defining Man Franciscan moment, although for whatever reason they chose not to run slowly into each other's arms.

My memory might be totally off, but I'm sure the good doctor threw himself on our mercy early in proceedings by confessing that he had come out the previous week and wondered where the hell everybody was. :D Either way, we fell into line behind doc as he promised us a pub, and delivered both alcohol AND hilarity as Stitch steadily alienated the bar staff. After MsLedd and Strangeblue joined the cohort, doc additionally had the dubious pleasure of being seated at the same end of the table as Scots' leather kru, and admirably handled the often nonsensical drivel being spouted by this point in our third day of solid drinking.

After repast I upset the status quo by suggesting the consumption of hard liquor before Stitch could get around to it, but he quickly recovered by chipping in for a half-share. The gang eventually assembled around Stitch's bed and I quickly sat GBM on my knee, somewhat concerned at how light he was before he eventually asked me if he could 'sit down properly now'. You cad!

Accompanying Strangeblue, MsLedd stormed in holding a bottle of tequila shortly thereafter, and was waving it in people's faces like a chloroformed rag. Stitch and I hid behind our bottle of bourbon, GBM behind his beard, and Starrfall was singled out (the smaller ones are harder to protect) and attacked.

Scots was singled out next, but he was having none of it. However, the Tequila Tyrant was brooking no dissent, and I watched nervously to see if he was going to seize the bottle and put it to work Glaswegian-style. She eventually backed down, but Scots' soothing counter-offer to 'possibly have a shot out in town' was liberally interpreted at our first bar stop of the evening.

Although technically we ran into some serious problems with our chosen club never opening, it was probably a blessing given the way nights often turn out with a good mixed company in 'those' types of joints. It was unfortunate that the doc had to run as a few hours isn't enough to get into the groove, but such is life - and with ruggers dropping shortly after, things were in turmoil.

At this point, I'm pretty much going to take the credit for saving the night. I'd just stolen most of Starr's long island iced tea so I'm pretty sure the whole moving back to Chelsea's place idea was mine (I'd loved the place since the previous night for its dodgy, 80s, neon sign, cheapish feel), even though it was credited to Stitch. Can we ever be sure? As long as I can claim a touch of the glory I'm happy.

Big credit to Faf who documented basically the entire Saturday comprehensively with his exquisite camerawork. I didn't witness the guinness exploits first hand, but I recall picking his brain about photography in general and, for some reason, TV shows. Fifteen drinks+ down probably isn't the best time for remembering new facts, but these things happen.

It was around that stage of general fuzziness that MsLedd leaned in to hug me, then quickly seized the fact I was leaning down to to take cruel advantage of me. The fact that both Starr and Faf had cameras trained on that moment leads me to believe there was a sly tipoff, but that will no doubt remain merely a conspiracy theory.

Events then reached their drunken crescendo and, as I occasionally do when fairly intoxicated, I decided to start picking people up. Let's just say Captain Morgan had taken over this ship by force. I vaguely recall the police showing up outside Chelsea's to ask us to 'move along', and the hugely greasy diner afterwards where Faf sniffed out some MsLedd trickery (haha).

Then there was the ridiculous "oh look the sun's up" all-nighter (sorry again, Faf!) that drew us to an even more surreal breakfast at - you guessed it - another diner. Scots was occasionally giggling like a lunatic, Stitch was finally starting to appear older than his regular appearance of 22, and I destroyed at least two other people's meals while Starr, Dave and GBM watched on with amusement.

'Twas a bit of an anticlimax once the entire crew had gone their separate ways, but Scots, Dave and I kicked on once he'd returned from his camping trip and had a good couple of days (despite the wine tour pretty much being garbage).

And there you have it, better late than never!

Scots Taffer on 21/8/2008 at 14:19

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chatty bitch isn't he

that's what he was like in sf man

every fuckin night

Stitch on 21/8/2008 at 21:19

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Add me to the "sorry, Faf" camp. And while I don't regret the all-nighter, skipping recuperative sleep did cut out the option of cruising around the city with him before my afternoon flight.

A bit of a lost opportunity there.

Also: holy shit what a write-up, Shug.

Shug on 21/8/2008 at 23:30

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I can do it in Mills & Boon style if you'd prefer

crunchy on 22/8/2008 at 03:39

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I'm impressed that Shug can remember anything after 12 months, let alone a tome to rival War and Peace. Ahh, the memories. It feels as if I was there.