David on 28/8/2007 at 18:32

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http://www.ttlg.com/dave/sanfran/17.jpg
Wait up!

http://www.ttlg.com/dave/sanfran/18.jpg
Anyone fancy some booze? The most impressive wine collection on our (Scots, Shug, and I) wine tasting tour, but the most disappointing in terms of tasting.

http://www.ttlg.com/dave/sanfran/19.jpg
The aussies chilling at a winery out of the sun. They were piping music throughout the place and they played one of the songs from the Jungle Book. I wanna be like you, I think it was. Scots knew all the words

http://www.ttlg.com/dave/sanfran/20.jpg
Dodgy Bar? Check!
FREE Pool? Check!
Puerto Rican wanting to join in? Check!
We had it all.

http://www.ttlg.com/dave/sanfran/21.jpg
We found the world's fastest cable car, somewhere around 700mph

http://www.ttlg.com/dave/sanfran/22.jpg
I've been thinking of sending people here rather than banning them

http://www.ttlg.com/dave/sanfran/23.jpg
HAY GUYZ, WATZ UP???!?

http://www.ttlg.com/dave/sanfran/24.jpg
Man Fran from the Bridge

ScaryMike23 on 28/8/2007 at 19:03

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FIXED.

(http://www.ossweb.com/2006/01/how_to_format_book_titles_on_t.html) Just trying to help a brother out.

Scots Taffer on 29/8/2007 at 00:54

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If you'll recall, the first night ended with my jet-lagged, drunken self getting a cab back to my hotel and managing to get inside my room, before collapsing in a heap on my hotel bed, in my clothes, and somehow losing my swipe-card to the room in transit between the door and bed...

Friday, Day Two: (LAW AND ORDER DUNK-DUNK SOUND)

I awoke in a head-aching, stomache-churning stupor after maybe 6 or 7 hours of sleep in my hotel room to a phone that was ringing like bass from nightclub speakers. It was It was Shug. I don't think I actually managed any words, just monosyllabic grunts that indicated it was not a good time.

Again, the phone awoke me some time later, this time it was RBJ, I think, who was down in the lobby. At this time I vaguely communicated my need to:
A) wake the fuck up
B) pack my shit and switch rooms
and
C) most likely transform to something resembling human form via showers, paracetamol and some sort of nausea control

I think I communicated this by slurring "10 minutes" and then took about forty to get simian enough to drag my bag downstairs to find the motley crew of RBJ, Stitch and Daveh waiting patiently in my hotel lobby. (Shug was at this time enjoying the comfortable sofa(-beds) of Macy's department store in Union Square)

After I got sorted, we hit Chinatown and managed to pick up Shug and lose RBJ along the way. We laughed at tacky figurines in stores (such as the Horrified B-Movie Extras and Hip-Hop Rapstars - one of which was missing, I said "presumably in jail").

Then I introduced the idea of sampling some chinese tea, a recommendation that changed Stitch's life forever and created a new catchphrase for the weekend ("I smell tea", meaning marijuana). Daveh and I spent some time jabbering excitedly about the news of Mafia II being broken in the media while Stitch gave us furtive sidelong looks.

Food became a pressing issue for both Shug and I, so while we got some greasy chinese from the world's most unhappy waitress, Daveh and Stitch went to grab GBM and Starreh who had just arrived. Once we all met, hugs were exchanged and we began our trek towards the waterfront.

On the way we enjoyed such sights as:
- the Church of Scientology, which looked remarkably like a bank, perhaps that's unsurprising though
- to paraphrase David: "the giant pointy penis building", more commonly known as the Transamerica building, which didn't satisfy Stitch's need to see giant phallic buildings, he was seeking the appropriately named Coit Tower - more like Coitus, am i rite? - after his desire to see cock-shaped buildings had only been inflamed by the three-foot wooden dong in Chinatown
- the (http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_7.JPG) twenty-minute HARD LIMIT for the portaloo of doom ((http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_8.JPG) Shug survived)
- (http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_5.JPG) OHSHI
- that bizarre waterworks structure with the angry eggheads outside

(http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_6.JPG) <img src="http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_6.JPG" height=300 width=400></img>

GBM got the urge to pee around this structure... by the looks of the scummy water, he already had.

(http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_1.JPG) <img src="http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_1.JPG" height=300 width=400></img>

Artist's Impression of the Cab Ride from Last Night; Seen on a Wanted Poster: DO YOU KNOW THESE MEN?

(http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_2.JPG) Daveh chillin'
(http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_3.JPG) Perspective shot

(http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_4.JPG) <img src="http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_4.JPG" height=300 width=400></img>
The Kru

After reaching the waterfront, we congregated around the toilet of death and destruction for some time while deciding what to do in a sort of nervous, edgy INTERNET MEETING fashion until we started gravitating towards the nearest pub, which turned out to be a rather cool bier-hall with a distinctly gloomy, wood-panelled decor, where we were shown to our own private backroom behind a drawn curtain. (I half expected to step onto plastic sheeting and be greeted by a bunch of bavarian savages sharpening butcher knives).

Finally, RBJ reconvened and the party of seven was forged strong and we proceeded to the Chinese restaurant for an early dinner.

(http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_9.JPG) <img src="http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_9.JPG" height=300 width=400></img>

The Starters Arrive

(http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_10.JPG) Moving our way around the table

(http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_11.JPG) The TTLG Allstars were in attendance

After ordering enough deep friend starters to kill a group of Scottish neds, we proceeded to order enough mains to very nearly tip the table.

(http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_12.JPG) <img src="http://www.christopher-morgan.co.uk/images/sanfran/DAY1_12.JPG" height=300 width=400></img>

Sadly, I didn't think the food was up to much - steak and egg was way, way at the bottom of my list too and so will it ever remain - but that didn't matter because stories were being swapped, catchphrases and in-jokes were being run into the ground with gleeful abandon, and all was well.

Following dinner there was a brief separation as everyone went to get their shit together for the continuing evening, where Stitch again took up the challenge of finding the dodgiest and diviest bar in all of San Fran.
Only this time WE FOUND IT, but not before we hit a couple of really cool places. We hit the Tunnel Top, where an awesome DJ was cutting shit up, after a quick drink at old fan favourite, Chelsea's Place (later to become the scene of the crime in MsLedd's mouth-rape of Shug ;)), after this we then began the long trek down Geary when GBM mentioned that it was "pretty damn dodgy" which lit Stitch up like a Christmas tree.

We kind of bounced from semi-dodgy pub to semi-dodgy pub (including one filled to the brim with - what looked like - hispanic gang-bangers) before finally hitting HA-RA. This place was intense. We were greeted, or abused rather, by a surly Soviet-block sounding bartender-owner-proprieter who demanded to know what we wanted to drink because he was closing. Needless to say, after one drink we were told to "fuck off" because the bar was closed, so Shug and I challenged two dudes to a game of pool and got pretty thoroughly owned by a guy who hit two amazing shots (one jump shot and another crazy side-spin shot to sink the black).

After trying to start another game of pool we were being threatened with physical violence by the bartender so we took our leave and shortly after the group split, Shug, Stitch, Daveh and myself were approached by the man with the plan, the dude who was hooked the fuck up, the playa who had connections, a stinking vagrant who uttered the immortal line "...top of the line pussy..." as he passed us, followed in brief succession by the guy doing the handstand atop the empty coke bottle inchanting dark poetry: "...the dark night descends... the streetlamps are burning...".

Meth's a hell of a drug.

And so ended Day 2.

Stitch on 29/8/2007 at 03:10

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Great read, Scots. Now it's my turn!

STITCHTTAKE: DAY TWO (Friday)

Friday morning dawned bright and early on this transplanted midwesterner. My stomach performed lopsided calisthetics and my brain felt like it was constructed of balsa wood. I examined the various bits of evidence scattered around my hotel room and pieced the end of the night together. San Francisco was already wide awake, judging by the sounds coming in through my apparently open window.

Time to join in.

Two texts and twenty minutes later I was cruising the streets in search of a cab to get me to RBJ's swank hotel for breakfast. Since cabs are mostly something that you resort to at bartime in Madison I really had no idea how to hail one. Three nervous false starts and one too-hungover-for-these-turns cab ride later I was in the lobby of RBJ's hotel, which was so lush and extravagant that mere sunlight was unable to penetrate through the windows.

Our free complimentary breakfast was in the hotel restaurant on the third floor, where we discovered that it is possible to fancy up bacon and eggs, of all things. Breakfast was delicious, although I did feel like at any moment the maitre de was going to wise up to me and press the button which causes the Hugo Boss machine gun turrets to lower from the ceiling for riffraff disposal. Still, great food, great company, great start to the day.

After this thoroughly enjoyable repast we walked through Chinatown to scope out a place to eat later that night. I was generally overwhelmed with the gorgeous, cluttered tackiness of it all(1), and took tons of pictures while RBJ alternated between punching things into his Blackberry(2) and complaining about the hills.

Speaking of which, Chinatown was far less level than I remember it being as a kid, and much smaller. Kids have no real sense of perspective and as such if something extends as far as you can see it must go on for miles, right? But no, it's just a neighborhood, a strip of stores and shops that dry up if you head more than a block in the wrong direction.

Once we made reservations at a reasonable looking Chinese restaurant we walked over to Union Square and bumped into a wandering Daveh. Taking this as providence that it was time to amass the troops, we walked over to the hotel room booked by Scots and Shug. No Shug was to be found, but Scots told us he needed ten minutes, which apparently means a half hour in Australian.

Right before we were about to leave Shug cruised in and filled in the blanks, a tale I will leave others to tell.

RBJ's hangover was at this time steadily gaining on him so we parted ways, and Shug, Scots, Dave, and I walked over to Chinatown to do this shit proper. We browsed the tacky gift stores(3), and even eyed up samurai swords which were surprisingly priced at around the same level as a Coldplay CD. One store sold little metal bugs that made constant cricket sounds, the existence of which I couldn't justify until Shug pointed out that they were only $1.99 apiece.

Scots wanted a proper tea drinking experience, so we dipped into a little joint for a pleasant free tea tasting ceremony that weaved a certain dark power over me. The first tea we tried was bland, up until thirty seconds later when a sweet sensation suddenly kicked in at the back of the tongue. Is this even possible? Man Fran follows its own rules my friends.

So juiced up on tea was I that I ended up walking out of there with $40 worth of tea supplies, ostensibly as a gift for my quasi-girlfriend but truthfully I had been steamrolled by the tea experience and I was expressing the totality of the experience in the only way I knew how.

Shortly after this we met up with GBM and Starrfall who are slightly less visually mismatched than Flavor Flav and Brigitte Nielsen. It took all of ten seconds for me to realize that my god they are awesome people, and they complimented the already solid group dynamic perfectly.

Chinatown had more or less run its course by this point so we drifted around the city taking in various sights like head sculptures and industrialized public shitteries, up until Geebums made the brilliant suggestion of finding a place to stop and get a drink.

That's what I like in a man.

Several we're doin' its later we stopped at a German place with Spaten on tap and metal buckets of greasy meatballs just sitting around on tables. RBJ met up with us some time in the middle of the second pitcher of Optimater(4), and our talk grew increasingly louder with each glass until we decided we should probably take mercy on our neighboring patrons and leave for more accommodating pastures, despite the establishment's promise of oompapas to come.

This was at around 5:00 PM.

Dinner at Cathay House was plentiful but frankly a little disappointing, with enough mediocre Chinese food to rekill the dinosaurs. Scots and I kept the tea thing rolling by downing cup after cup, depsite the fact that it didn't set off delayed fireworks behind our tongues. The beef and eggs dish sharply divided the table, which was fine as what's six dudes and a chick in San Fran without a little sexual tension.

We then split up to prepare properly for the evening's journey, but I never made it out of Shug and Scot's hotel room oh god. Shug and I had a bonding moment where we rattled off the most inappropriate jokes we knew and discovered our arsenal was almost identical, my man even had the "getting the blood off the clown suit" one down. I reached into the darkest recesses of my soul for my secret weapon, which he hadn't heard before and once the laughter died it was clear some horrible barrier had been crossed from which there was no return.

Everyone met back up at the hotel and we had our first true internet moment: all six of us huddled around the laptop in the lobby and read the latest developments in this thread out loud, cackling and buzzing with internet energy. I think that kind of behavior would have been permitted all of four seconds in RBJ's hotel lobby, for the record.

And so we went out, another fuzzy night of bar hopping. We started out at a skuzzy little bar right next to the hotel and then progressed to a busy bar with a hiphop DJ that was positively on fire. The hipster crowd seemed a little unsettled by our presence--apparently some immediate neighbors looked on in horror as I enthusiastically gestured my way through a drunken vomit story--so we only downed a drink or two before leaving for dodgier pastures.

It was at the next bar that I stumbled upon the glory that is pitchers of Sierra Nevada(5), although the cafeteria-like ambience wasn't exactly inviting. The nasal piano man that was undoubtedly created to balance the birth of Barry White didn't help much, either. Finally we moved on and indeed found dodgy bar jackpot(6), a dive so questionable that the irritable, drunk bartender decided to stop serving alcohol an hour early and meet drink requests with advice to fuck off. This simply wouldn't do, so I jumped across the street to grab a quick one at what turned out to be an all-Korean bar(7). After feeling like a turd in a punchbowl for fifteen minutes I finished my drink and ducked back into dive bar zero, shortly around the time of what would be last call in any other drinking establishment.

The rest of the night basically unraveled exactly as Scots described. Some of us got pizza. Some of us were offered the top of the line pussy hookup. All of us got back to our hotel rooms safely, this time without the assistance of homeless men.

Friday down, but the weekend was just getting started. Tomorrow: sea lions, flags, holy shit MsLedd.

Photographic Appendix:

1.
(http://picasaweb.google.com/wstitch/20070817SanFrancisco/photo#5100803372010023986) http://lh3.google.com/wstitch/RsmxpEHFrDI/AAAAAAAAA3g/7zdghriFxYc/s400/P1000651.JPG

2.
(http://picasaweb.google.com/wstitch/20070817SanFrancisco/photo#5100803599643290786) http://lh4.google.com/wstitch/Rsmx2UHFrKI/AAAAAAAAA4c/5N0J6hbwa7w/s400/P1000658.JPG

3.
(http://picasaweb.google.com/wstitch/20070817SanFrancisco/photo#5100804093564530066) http://lh3.google.com/wstitch/RsmyTEHFrZI/AAAAAAAAA6Y/4lDTKLlN69o/s400/P1000674.JPG

4.
(http://picasaweb.google.com/wstitch/20070817SanFrancisco/photo#5100804570305900178) http://lh6.google.com/wstitch/Rsmyu0HFrpI/AAAAAAAAA8c/sCzoULUK7rU/s400/P1000690.JPG

5.
(http://picasaweb.google.com/wstitch/20070817SanFrancisco/photo#5100804716334788370) http://lh4.google.com/wstitch/Rsmy3UHFrxI/AAAAAAAAA9g/BDxgt-JN778/s400/P1000698.JPG

6.
(http://picasaweb.google.com/wstitch/20070817SanFrancisco/photo#5100804870953611170) http://lh4.google.com/wstitch/RsmzAUHFr6I/AAAAAAAAA-o/750CmF8Ska0/s400/P1000709.JPG

7.
(http://picasaweb.google.com/wstitch/20070817SanFrancisco/photo#5100804858068709266) http://lh5.google.com/wstitch/Rsmy_kHFr5I/AAAAAAAAA-g/y6sTW9DWeGI/s400/P1000708.JPG

jtr7 on 29/8/2007 at 03:55

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HA-

He mocks you!:o :mad: