So I hopped into a car and headed two hours east to my hometown.

[This is my all-too-familiar drive between my two home cities, full of tobacco fields, car dealerships, strip malls, and jesus billboards.]

I spent the majority of the next few days doing things I don’t otherwise get to do:

- Eat disgusting/awesome Southern fast food.

- Hang out with my cat (I’m a long-distance cat owner, btw).

- Hang out with my mom and watch Oprah and HGTV.

One of the particularly exciting things about this vacation is the fact that I’m having a visitor while I’m here – my boyfriend Aaron. I’ve never had a visitor on vacation before. I don’t think there are many circumstances where it is possible. But my visitor was to arrive on Thursday morning and I was to spend the rest of my trip acquainting him with the dirty south.

I spend day one showing Aaron all of my favorite hangouts in Raleigh, including Raleigh Times, Morning Times, Helios, Foundation, Busy Bee, Sosta, etc. I quickly realize my enjoyment of Raleigh revolves completely around food and drink.

After a day in Raleigh, I feel that it’s best to head toward the coast for a proper southern experience. We head out onto Highway 70 with all intentions of arriving in New Bern by early afternoon, but end up on a spontaneous adventure to Nahunta Pork Center instead.

Some context: I have seen billboards for Nahunta Pork Center almost my entire life. Billboard after billboard after billboard on Highway 70, all urging me to go to this mythical place. Everyone who drives this highway knows about Nahunta Pork Center, but I’ve never met anyone who has actually been. So… now might as well be that time. We make the turn. We drive 30 minutes off the highway into rural desolation to find ourselves in the middle of what is basically a giant grocery store, full of every pork product you can imagine. We purchase some ribs and country ham (another first for Aaron), awkwardly take photos while the locals stare, and continue on our way to New Bern.

I should mention that we’re arriving in New Bern on its tricentennial weekend. Yes, New Bern is turning 300. The people are excited, and there are lots of festivities planned. Festivities defined not really by San Francisco standards, but by 300-year-old coastal town standards.

[parade photos courtesy of my mom.]

Parades, symphony concerts, fireworks and the like.

Other than that, we spent most of our time on the water or at the beach or playing with Raphael or eating BBQ. All in all, it was a very very good trip to the south.

Here are a few photos.

See you next year, east coast!

END!

My close friends Bill and Jessica are getting married. I met Bill while packing a giant van full of instruments, which we were to drive around the country in for the month immediately following. I toured with his band, American Aquarium, for a good portion of 2007 and some of 2008. I can’t even begin to cover the ridiculous adventures we’ve been through together (though I did post some old tour logs on the blog here and here). I met Jessica briefly during that tour, and we became good friends soon after. They have been dating since high school, and it was no surprise to me that they decided to tie the knot. Not one of those… we’ve-been-together-long-enough-so-we-might-as-well kind of things. They really dig each other. It’s pretty neat.

Anyway. I was a bridesmaid for this thing. The only bridesmaid that happens to live not only outside of the greater Raleigh area, but on the opposite side of the country. I was totally out of the loop as far as everything that I needed to do and how this all was going down. But I winged it.

Winging it = Me being the only bridesmaid with black shoes (the rest were wearing red with their red dresses… how logical), black nail polish, and hair down. West coast bridesmaid represent!

The wedding was great. I saw so many old friends, and met some new ones. I ate lots of glorious buffet food and danced around the top of the Clarion, Raleigh’s signature cylindrical hotel with a bar at the top.

I didn’t take many photos, as I was a bridesmaid, not the photographer. But I managed to snag a few.

I definitely planned on going out with the wedding crowd post-reception, but I ended up passing out instantly upon Logan’s couch and waking up 15 hours later.

END!

I arrived at approximately 9:49 AM Thursday morning. I had expected ample sleeping time on my red-eye flight, but the fact that I was situated in the middle seat prevented that. And with the token obese-man-with-gas-problem to my left, I was at the optimum level of contentment, I assure you.

Raleigh couldn’t come soon enough. My compadre Sam was kind enough to tote me downtown, and I had things to do.

Day 1: Day of Raleigh clichés.

Objective: Basically do everything I would normally do in my typical Raleigh day prior to moving.

Tasks:
- Do work at Morning Times. Probably buy an iced soy chai latte with a shot of espresso. Maybe a apple brie sandwich as well.
- Go to Sitti (bar where I worked when I lived in Raleigh). Receive back massage from Ken the bartender. Order to-go food (likely a goat cheese and orange salad, chicken kabob, hummus, maybe okra stew, bread and bread and bread) minutes before dinner hours to have access to lunch prices.
- Take to-go food to Blue Martini (other bar where I worked when I lived in Raleigh). Set up elaborate Lebanese food buffet across the bar to be enjoyed exclusively by me and Tara, my homedog/general manager. A Wednesday tradition.
- Have a Dagmar (the martini named after me) at Blue Martini while food settles.
- Go to Raleigh Times for dinner. Likely a BBQ sandwich. Greyhound may also be involved.
- Go to Foundation to check out seasonal drink menu. Pick one. Enjoy.
- Go to Busy Bee. Mandatory order of The Sting and tater tots.
- Go to Landmark for bloody mary or Kriekbeer.

And that I did.

I’m surprised I didn’t take more photos. It may have had something to do with the 80 people I ran into on every corner. I kid you not – I probably caught up with more than 150 people in the first day, just strolling around the neighborhood. Good to be back, Raleigh.

END!

This has been a very productive week for me so far. I have some important updates to share with all of you. I will explain further below.

But first, here some photos from the past week’s adventures:

A few days ago, I went over to help friend Mark work on his particularly large project of renovating his abode. He is currently building a rather large addition to the back of his home, and I, wanting to pacify my need for being around architecture and construction, offered to help. However, my homebuilding/welding knowledge and physical strength is limited, so I offered to make sandwiches and take pictures instead.

So I did.

How to open a can of Dew with a nail gun. By Mark.

My valuable contribution to the project (other than sandwiches).

While you’re at it, check out Mark’s loverly band, The Bowerbirds. You will be pleased.

Yesterday I spent some time running around both downtown Durham and downtown Raleigh. Stop 1 was a trip to see the Durham Bulls play for friend Eric’s birthday. Hot and schweaty and fun.

Durham tracks jump.

Then back to Blue Martini for a staff jump.

And so began our hike around town to climb and jump on everything possible.

This immediately led to Todd’s plight from the trash can to the pavement resorting in ACL problems for the remainder of the day.

Todd remained on the ground whenever possible.

We had quite an audience for this shot. A few angry cars as well. Oh well. We do what we want.

Ok, now for the important stuff.

First of all, my work has been selected for display at the Busy Bee for First Friday!!! This is a huge deal to me, and I am so excited to be an official part of the First Friday arts scene for my last month in North Carolina.

(photocred: New Raleigh)

Second, I have acquired a second travelmate for my trip across the country.

(photocred: Tim Lytvinenko)

His name is Tim Lytvinenko, a photographer based out of Raleigh. I remember seeing his photos and reading great things about him long before I met him. (His track record includes being touring photographer for The Rosebuds. Lucky bastard. Read what they have to say about him here.) I eventually met him and let him write about Ukranian beer in my Moleskine book before I ever knew he was THE “photographer Tim.” I pieced it all together eventually. He gave me some great advice when I was putting together my grad school portfolio, and I still owe him about 800 beers for it. And now, he will officially be part of my gigantic cross-country photo/blog/video adventureproject. With me+Logan+Tim together for an entire month on the road, I can’t even begin to fathom what we’re getting into. It’s going to be absolutely ridiculous.

That said, I have decided to make Friday’s photos a collaborative project with work from all three of us, in order to help build a buzz around our upcoming project and give people an idea of what we’re all about and what adventures we’ve managed to get ourselves into in the past.

The photos will go on display this Friday (June 5th), and we’ll be present for a casual reception of sorts beginning at 6 p.m. This will give you plenty of time to come by, meet us, take jumping photos with us, get some grub (either at the Busy Bee or one of the other 10 great restaurants around the block), and continue on with your First Friday plans. Regardless, take a minute and pencil in a time to come visit us that night.

Check our our First Friday Facebook event HERE.

Read what OkayGreat.com has to say about our show HERE.

If you haven’t had the chance to read about my cross-country project that will commence in approximately one month, read about it in my previous blog post here.

That’s all for now! Stay tuned for more updates to come.

hp

Kate and I head out bright and early to catch out 6 a.m. flight to Houston, TX. I have no recollection of it, as I passed out immediately once I was seated on the plane. Apparently free breakfast was offered to me. I had no idea.

We arrive in Houston. Our flight is delayed about an hour. No problem. We wander the airport for a while looking for a sufficient breakfast. I decide to purchase a breakfast stromboli. I always hate airport breakfast stromboli, but I always seem to subject myself to it whenever I have the opportunity. Can’t explain it.

Anyway. It’s about time to head to the gate. We arrive, smile at the desk attendant, and take a seat in the waiting area. I casually observe that the area is pretty empty, but we don’t think much of it. We read and play with our cameras for a while. Waiting room is still empty. Kate decides to check in with the desk attendant. Desk attendant freaks out on us. Apparently they had already boarded the gate and closed things up a while ago. And apparently it is not her job to question people that are obviously approaching and waiting on a gate, sitting within a five foot radius of her for the past 10 minutes. We tell her to chill out and let us on the plane. She complies.

Plane ride number two. I pass out again immediately, apparently missing yet another offering of free breakfast.

I wake up a few hours later to warnings that we will be approaching turbulence, perhaps due to the gargantuan storm covering the entire state of California. No biggie. We’ve all handled turbulence before.

Next thing I know, I am barfing into a bag like a damn six year old. People loved it.

We finally land, head to baggage claim to collect our goods, and prepare to leave, when Kate realizes she left her digital camera on the plane. How clever. I decide to sit on the floor in baggage claim while Kate goes to find gate passes to reenter the terminal and rescue her camera.

Camera is retrieved. We get the fuck out of the airport and hop on the train toward the city.

By the time we get off the train at Powell Station, the giant storm had completely cleared. I am famished, and am really craving vegan Asian cuisine, particularly from Golden Era. It’s really the only vegan Asian I’ve ever consumed, but regardless, I’m obsessed with it and have to eat it multiple times when I’m in SF. We head a few blocks toward the Tenderloin to find it.

Not long into the trek Kate’s rolling luggage breaks a wheel, and ceases to roll any further. She drags her giant duffel bag against the concrete for the remaining few blocks until we arrive at the restaurant.

Food is great. We stuff our faces until we are practically useless. However, we decide that it would be productive if we purchased a new bag for Kate as quickly as possible. We leave our belongings at the restaurant, and head out in search of luggage.

Soon enough, we’re back with a fresh new rolling suitcase for Kate. We repack everything casually on the floor of the restaurant, leave Kate’s old suitcase as a gift of sorts, then head on our way back into the financial district to kill time until Dakota gets off work.

Next stop is Blue Bottle Coffee Co. I am absolutely obsessed with their goods. Upon arrival, I receive the news that they are out of the coffee beans used to make my favorite iced coffee, so I end up with a baby iced americano instead.

It’s finally 5:00 and Dakota is off work. We head toward Powell to meet her. I am excited to go through my favorite alley, which is usually covered in randomly strewn orange chairs. I don’t know why, but I just really like orange furniture and concrete combined. Whatever.

Anyway, all that I found in the alley today was this. No iced coffee or orange chairs???? What kind of city is this???

We find Dakota at Powell. Our reunion is interrupted by a strange city dweller who told me I looked exactly like the woman who carried his sperm within her back to England. I quickly informed him that I was not this woman, and we headed on our way to catch up elsewhere.

Onward to the Mission, Dakota’s hood. Her new apartment is so so so great. Right beside Delores park. She was hungry, so we trekked a few blocks to a sushi spot, where we proceeded to stuff our faces yet another time.

So then there’s bi-rite. I had been to their grocery last time I was in SF, but missed out on the whole creamery deal. So I’ve basically been nerding out reading their menus online since last July, and really needed to experience it for myself at this point. We went, tried about 9 flavors total, and I decided that blood orange was the way to go. I was pleased.

Must learn to suppress the stank/primate face when on film and/or in public.

Day 2:

It’s raining again.

Dakota recommended that we head over to Tartine for breakfast. I first learned about Tartine last summer, when I was at some random pot-luck-cookout-half-birthday party in San Fran, and somebody brought some berry pastries from Tartine. I was obsessed from that point forward, and upon learning that the establishment was only a couple of blocks away from Dakota’s, I was set on going.

We were told to get the morning buns. So I did. I perhaps got a little carried away and ordered a ten dollar breakfast sandwich as well. I’m pretty sure it was worth it.

Project #2 was checking out the piers. Most of the projects we had on our to-do list I had already done last time I was here, but they are all worth seeing again, and since this was Kate’s first time in town, it was absolutely necessary.

And so began the jumping pictures.

Then we headed over to Pier 39. It feels like a glorified coastal trip to Busch Gardens.

The rain is intense and our socks are getting wet. But there are sea lions to be seen.

There wasn’t much more to see of the piers, so we headed westward to project #3: Coit Tower.

We didn’t have any plans on going in the tower itself, because it costs money and is generally anticlimactic. We just wanted to explore the hill surrounding the tower itself.

The rain conveniently stopped once we reached the top.

We noticed staircases running down the side of the hill into the woods. No reason not to walk down them.

Everything is so green here. And it’s a different green from the east. Can’t explain it.

We then wandered into the residential area surrounding the tower. Kick ass houses perched on the side of Telegraph Hill. Project #4: finding out how to either live in or have friends who live in these homes.

We continued walking down stairs for another half-hour until we finally hit level concrete. Onward to the next project.

Next stop was Jackson Place Cafe. I used to eat here all the time last summer, because it was in Dakota’s neighborhood and right across the street from her work. They have my favorite coffee ever (blue bottle new orleans iced coffee) and favorite meat ever (prociutto). The cafe is hidden in a little nook full of brick and palm trees and open flame lamps. I love.

Next stop: Haight. Full of hippies, thrifty shopping, and teenagers who pretend to be homeless after school lets out. Before curfview of course.

This was about 4 minutes before an insane hailstorm that left me and Kate completely soaked from the waist down. And broke our umbrellas.

And then we found the Grateful Dead house.

We met up with Dakota after work for dinner in the Mission. I had recently discovered that I wasn’t quite as broke as I thought I was, so I planned to reward myself with a tasty, slightly pricier SF dinner. And maybe a beer.

We decided on Monk’s Kettle. It was only a couple of blocks from Dakota’s, which I liked considering the weather was still crap.

Monk’s was on a wait, so we ended up browsing the surrounding thrifty spots around the block. First stop was Idol, which I vaguely remember exploring last July when Dakota was at work and I was wandering around the city bored.

Next stop was the bookstore next door… I also remember exploring this at some point last year. Quiet little spot… I kind of wonder how these places pay rent. The owner had just bought a couple of quiches and offered us a piece when we came in. We politely declined, to the delight of a ratty bearded fellow who continued eating the goods furiously.

I didn’t expect to purchase anything… until I ran across the book of my dreams. A gargantuan book of Philippe Starck’s work. My favorite designer. Ever. He is god to me. I immediately made the purchase and headed back to Monk’s to read it while I wait.

Monk’s was great. Very content-conscious cooking, and the greatest beer list I have EVER seen. The first page was about 50 California brews… and then continued on for another 10 pages or so. I wish I could have had the chance to explore several, but after a giant pretzel, macaroni and cheese, bbq sandwich, fries and curry aioli, I really only had room for one altbier. Then it was coma time.

I still regret not getting the Cali-brewed black currant cider. Next time I suppose.

Day three. Kate and I have a lot to explore before we head to Los Altos Hills for the night. We get up early, eat the remaining halves of our sandwiches from the night before, and head on our way.

Project 1: Tour the Academy of Art Institute’s campus. Kate had signed up for the tour of the university’s fashion design graduate program, and I was just along for the ride.

Then I started filling out a registration card. Noticed they had basically every major I have been interested in the past before deciding on pursuing a relatively uninspiring undergrad degree in public relations.

By the end of the tour, I was meeting with an admissions advisor discussing the application process. I’ll be applying to grad school in SF this week. What the fuck.

[May 09 Update: I applied. I got in. I'm moving to SF in July and starting classes in September.]

Project #2: find dim sum in Chinatown.

We don’t have dim sum in NC. Almost everyone I’ve talked to who moved from the west coast are distraught over this. Last year I managed to find a fantastic spot called Delicious Dim Sum. I am usually highly suspicious of any establishment with a positive description of their product within the name of the establishment itself. But man, this place changed my life. Nobody spoke English, and there was no menu, so I just pointed to random dumplings and the owner charged me two dollars for one of the best lunches I have EVER had. Needless to say, I was ready to revisit Chinatown.

So we arrive at Delicious Dim Sum. It is CLOSED.

NOOO.

I don’t know what to do. Of course there are approx. 342790 other dim sum restaurants in Chinatown, but it is really hard to distinguish from the good ones and the terrible ones.

We decide to make our replacement decision based on proximity. We cross the street and head into House of Dim Sum. We ordered twelve dollars worth of food. Considering my last dim sum meal was two dollars, you can only imagine how much food ended up in front of us.

We eat. We can’t finish. It is pretty terrible.

Dim sum fail 2009.

And then we headed northwest.

Project #3: Take jumping picture at Crissy Fields.

Crissy Fields jumping photo accomplished.

RENTAL CAR TIME!!!

What a pleasant surprise…. we are given a glorious minivan by Enterprise to aid us in our travels.

Yeeeaaahh minivan yeah!

[Stories continued on following blog...]

So I started this habit of jumping recently. I suppose it happened after having the epiphany that I have a lot of good photos of things that thousands of other people have also taken good photos of. The sudden feeling that my photos lacked any sort of novelty led me to the decision to begin jumping. You may have a photo of (insert cliche monument here), but I have a photo of myself jumping in front of it, and, therefore, mine is better. Holler.

Pier 7 jump.

Pier 39 ninja jump.

Crissy Fields jump.

Mini-van rental jump.

Rest stop jump.

Pacific Ocean cliff jump.

Half Moon Bay jump.

Marin Headlands jump.

Sausalito jump.

Redwood forest jump.

Wine country jump.

Landmark Vineyard courtyard jump.

Juanita Juanita taco shack jump.

Random sheep hill found above race track jump.

Land’s End jump.

Full House jump.

On the way back into town to finish up the last of our San Fran projects before plane boarding time.

Project #1: go to Land’s End.

It’s a strange process getting out here. You go to the golf course behind the Legion of Honor, wander until you find a dirt road blocked off by a rusted gate going straight into the woods. Jump the gate. Continue down the dirt road until you find a staircase going further downward into the woods. Take the staircase.

Continue walking down until you are standing on the edge of a cliff. Stop walking.

The wind was out of control. Maybe not that big of a deal. Unless you are standing on double-sided cliffs and could easily fall a hundred-something-feet or so.

Sitting down seemed like the most practical way to take photos. Lessened the risk of falling to our death.

I look like a muppet.

We tried and tried and tried to come up with a good way to do a jumping photo, but we couldn’t come up with a way that eliminated the chance of our cameras and/or us falling off the cliff. So we gave up and decided to climb down to the beach instead.

Land’s end jumping photo sort-of-accomplished.

I had never climbed down to the beach before. Not much sand going on. Mostly unstable rocks ranging between about half a foot and ten feet in diameter.

one of the cliffs we failed to take a jumping photo on.

Next stop: Ocean Beach.

We were running out of time and, frankly, feeling lazy, so we took some photos from the top of the ledge and went on our way.

Next stop: ALAMO SQUAAARE.

(insert Full House theme song here)

Dogs running around everywhere. I want to have a dog. In San Francisco.

LAST JUMPING PHOTO!

Alamo Square Full House jumping photo accomplished. Sort of.

We stumbled upon a shoe garden while searching for a bathroom.

The final meal of the trip was spent back at Tartine. We met up with Dakota for some paninis and baked goods, and sat outside on 18th and made some last-minute friends before it was time to leave.

feeling dirty and tired. saved the best photos for last, obviously.

THE END! More SF photos to come once I’m living there in August!

We head northward to find Calistoga, a tiny town nestled within the Sonoma Valley. Out mapquest directions don’t seem to suffice, so we decide to rely on the navigation service on my phone. We end up on Petrified Forest Road, winding at about five mph to keep from driving off the side of the mountain.

My phone is dying. I have no car charger. The GPS cannot locate us properly and keeps giving us bogus directions. We keep driving on this Petrified Forest Road (a comforting name) while I frantically write down directions from the phone, not sure if they are even correct or not. Thank god for excellent 90′s tunes lightening the mood for the trek.

The phone survived. We made it to the Calistoga Inn. Just in time to head to the bar on the bottom floor. It was DJ REGGAE NIGHT. YES.

We spent a few hours at the bar, eyeing the beautiful Calistoga man sitting alone at the barstool beside us, and bonding with bartender Danny. We promised him we’d come visit again. I’m sure he’ll be there, as he’s been working there for ten years already.

We awake from a good sleep to find complimentary breakfast waiting for us on the bottom floor. We seem to be the only people in the entire hotel. So we obviously feel obligated to eat an obscene amount of food to prevent waste. And we do so.

West coast brunch is different than east coast brunch. West coast has no meat. It’s all granola and fruit and fresh baked goods and fresh orange juice and dank coffee. East coast is usually composed of fat, egg, bacon, fat, ham, fried, chicken biscuit. Which I do enjoy from time to time, I’m not gonna lie. Anyway. West coast rules.

So then we explore Calistoga.

Today’s first project was exploring some wineries around Sonoma Valley. Not Napa. Sonoma is less commercial, it’s quieter, and less expensive. In other words, Sonoma = superior.

First stop: Kaz vineyard.

Kaz vineyard consisted of an odd little gated off house where the owner resides, a tasting barn, and and some patches of vines surrounding the property. They do.. 60 barrels a year? I think?

We kind of felt like we were intruding on such a quaint little piece of property. Especially considering it seemed like we were the only people actually on the property. We decided to explore anyway.

We wandered into a dark barn door and found a cashier’s counter with a sharp, super tan, super raspy old woman staring at us. We say hello. The wine tasting begins.

We go through twelve red wines, and jam out to the Rolling Stones with the raspy one for a while.

We wander outside into the backyard. A clusterfuck of old rusted bits and pieces of everything you can imagine. And lots of old plants. And a cat named Molly, who I hung out with for a while.

The raspy one showed us the Kaz fish pond, with the biggest fish I have ever seen in my life. This puppy was easily as big as Raphael (my mammoth cat, for those of you who don’t know). Apparently they had been abandoned at a foreclosed property, so the Kaz folk adopted them. They were fun.

Kaz winery photo jumping montage. There were too many awesome ones to pick just one.

We said our goodbyes to Molly and Raspy and the fish and headed next door to vineyard #2.

Next stop was Landmark Vineyards, a snazzy little piece of property not two mailboxes down from Kaz.

Once arrived, we met new friend Ryan, who poured wine generously and talked with us about anything and everything while we consumed it.

Jumping attempt #1: Jump off the ledge for superheight. Extremely painful and nearly impossible. We gave up quickly.

Preparing for jump plan B.

Luxury vineyard courtyard jumping photo accomplished.

New friend Ryan ended up really enjoying our company. He didn’t charge us for any of the wine, and put together a map of things to do and see before we left Sonoma. We said our goodbyes and headed onward to finish exploring before heading back to SF to catch our plane home.

First stop: Juanita Juanita.

Seemingly shady little taco shack on an old, slightly obscure Sonoma highway. Ryan said it would be a well-worthy place to grab a bite before we headed back to the city. We complied.

We decided to share a jerk chicken dish of sorts. We were presented with what looked like a rather round burrito. Perhaps because there was an ENTIRE chicken nestled inside of it. Yes, bones and all.. the whole thing. It was AMAZING. Well done, Juanita Juanita.

It only made sense to involve finger mustaches in a taco shack jumping photo.

Juanita Juanita washroom.

So continued our trek through the offroads of Sonoma Valley.

We noticed a gigantic hill in the distance (not this one…. the one of mention was too way big to fit into my camera lens). Nestled at the bottom was a… raceway? We were intrigued. Couldn’t think of a reason not to try and get on the property. So we headed to the gate.

A security guard was waiting for us. We didn’t have much of a plan set up.. so we simply explained that we noticed this hill and racetrack and wanted to know if she’d let us on the property to take pictures. We also mentioned we were from the South at some point, thinking that would somehow logically function as grounds for admission to a raceway. She actually complied. We headed onward and began our trek up the hill.

We arrive close to the top. As far as they’ll allow us to go at least. And what greater thing to be waiting for us than…. a giant hill COVERED IN SHEEP. Glorious.

High-altitude sheep covered hill jumping photo accomplished.

And then it was back to San Francisco for some last minute projects before plane-boarding time.

[to be continued...]

[March 2009]

Day four: drive everywhere we possibly can.

Vista point jump.

Stop 2: Some amazing beach. Can’t remember the name, but I remember that it bore some sort of phonetic resemblance to pinot grigio.

So we started hiking.

Random Pacific Ocean cliffside jump.

Even higher more dangerous Pacific Ocean cliffside jump.

I was examining this fantastic truck in the beach parking lot, when I noticed a man approaching that looked like he should be the owner. His name was Pat. We became friends immediately and we talked about his truck for a while. Apparently he built the entire thing himself. He then asked me on a date, immediately apologized for being old, and drove off. Farewell Pat.

We stopped at a couple of beaches on the way back north, and made some friends.

Next stop: HALF MOON BAY! It’s a little town about 45 mins south of San Francisco. I had been told to go there, and so had Kate, so we naturally had to comply.

Half Moon Bay jump.

We were told to dine at Half Moon Bay Brewing Co., so we did so. We couldn’t decide on a beer, so we ended up trying all ten brews simultaneously.

We split a lunch sandwich to make up for our hefty beer purchase. Kate neglected to drink her share of the beverages because she was driving, so I really had no choice but to consume them myself. Hello lunchtime drunktime.

Back into the mini. Heading northbound.

Kate has a bit of a fear of driving on bridges. Needless to say, the experience was quite exhilarating for her. I’m pretty glad she didn’t go into a panic seizure.

We have a bit of a habit of pulling over at every single vista point along highway 1.

Just not enough room for a proper jumping picture. We settled for a normal one.

We found monks. Tried to take a picture. Received the death stare. Please. Lighten up, monks.

We noticed a road across the highway heading up a giant hill. We decided we had to figure out how to get there. Not much later, we were jumping at the top of the Marin Headlands. I had been told to go here a year ago, but never quite figured out where it was. Good to finally figure it out accidentally.

Next stop: Sausalito. Cute little bayside town across from SF.

You are witnessing a McDonald’s photoshoot. Like… a model, posing with a McDonald’s bag and cup. For a McDonald’s advertisement. Glorious. Keep your eyes out for it.

Sausalito jump.

Next stop: Miur Woods. We wanted to see the redwoods.

Miur Woods jump.

Coolest trunk I have ever seen in my life. I would have taken it if I could.

Bear statues everywhere. I felt like I was in New Bern.

Next project: In-N-Out Burger.

I have had plans to go to In-N-Out burger ever since Tucker Max told me to in 2007. I kept missing the opportunities whenever they presented themselves over the past couple of years. Obviously it was on the to-do list for this trip.

Not 30 seconds after getting back on the road, we see one on the side of the highway. How convenient. We frantically pull over to see what this burger is really all about.

I don’t even really like burgers. I have probably have had MAYBE four fast food burgers in my entire life. They just don’t particularly appeal to me. But man, this burger was good. I’m a fan for life.

Project burger accomplished.

[to be continued...]

I’m 15 minutes late. I walk into Harefield to find Mikey and Greg (who I have known for less than 12 hours at this point), and three other people who I have never met. George and Larry are nowhere to be found. I’m basically eating brunch with five people I don’t know. I’m up for the challenge though, and settle right in to begin getting acquainted with my dining mates.

First mistake – by arriving late, I lost our table, because the restaurant refused to seat Mikey & co. until the last of the party arrived. I take a seat by the bar. I’m immediately chastised by the waitress for being in the way of the service station. I adjust my seat to allow her access. The owner approaches me and says I need to sit by the wall because I’m blocking traffic. I felt like I was being sent to time out. Off to a great start.

Once we are seated, brunch was fantastic. I quickly bonded with my co-diners, including another former Raleigh-ite who now is living in Buffalo getting a PhD in archaeology. I also managed to get a kickass eggs benedict w/ smoked salmon AND one of the tastiest bloody marys I’ve ever consumed… for only 12 dollars. Apparently it is a standard New York brunch to include a free breakfast beverage with the entrée you select. I think it was the moment I learned this that I decided I need to move to New York.

After brunch was consumed, me and my new compadres said our goodbyes until the day I happen to run into them in NY again.

I am solo at this point… Erika is in Manhattan with a friend from Yale, George and Larry and Jaclyn are MIA, and Hannah is at work… so I figure this is a good time to wander around NYC alone for a while. I decide to take a subway down toward China Town and Little Italy. It ends up taking much longer than expected, because I managed to spend 30 minutes on the subway platform watching three N trains go by when I finally realized it was actually the N I needed to take. I walk out into China Town only to immediately receive a call from Hannah telling me she was off work and wanted to hang. I take a look around for literally about a minute, decide the tourist crowd was way too dense to get any legitimate exploring done, and hop right back on the subway to Grand Central Station.

Almost as awesome as New York brunches is the obscenely large architecture that New York hosts. I’ve been obsessed with architecture since I was about 8 years old, and have a particular liking for oversizeed structures, whether it be Philippe Starck’s surrealist oversized furniture, or unnecessarily large spaces or high ceilings. I probably get more butterflies from good architecture and high ceilings than I’ve ever gotten or will get from any relationship. That’s normal right?

Anyway, Grand Central was doin it for me. As much of a tourist cliché as it is, that main structure is fucking awesome. I spent a few minutes just sitting on the stairs in architectural ecstasy, spent another few talking to a homeless man about how he danced with Madonna in a club in Chicago, then met Hannah on the street to go do more exploring.

We ended up sitting in Bryant Park for a couple of hours, just drinking coffee and catching up on life. I’m so glad I had the chance to do this, since I hadn’t had the chance to really catch up with her since she moved in July, and I had been so busy exploring the city on the trip thus far.

I soon receive a phone call from Erika saying she and Yale friend are hanging out and were on their way to the Museum of Sex if we wanted to join.

Friend Sam told me that this museum was quite an interesting spectacle and I should check it out, so I had placed it on my to-do list. I was not exactly sure what the museum has in store… whether it was sex-ed or the art of sex or just a glorified porn shop. Hannah and I catch a subway and meet Erika and Yale friend by the museum. Hannah says her goodbyes to go meet some friends in the East Village for Oktoberfest, and Erika, Yale and I head inside.

Exhibit one: Animal sex. I can’t get into too much detail without blushing or just grossing myself out, but I learned more sexytime facts than I could ever fathom existed within the animal kingdom. Obviously things I’ve always wanted to know. I mean… it was educational. I’m now a walking animal sex fact vault. I saw enough animal penises in one hour to last me several lifetimes. Egh.

Exhibit two: The history of sex in film. This spanned everything from mainstream film to pornography. Again, I saw enough human penises to last me several lifetimes. We had the privilege of walking through the exhibit with a large group of high schoolers, who were going apeshit crazy over this stuff. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone.

Exhibit three was a variety of really strange sexual instruments and inventions and whatnot. I really just can’t bring myself to get into detail. You’re just going to have to go to NY and see for yourself.

Erika and Yale and I left feeling… cultured. Definitely the most bizarre thing I’ve seen in a while.

Immediately next to the museum was yet another thing on my to-do list… my friend Brian had told me to check out the Gershwin, a surrealist hotel that looks much like something Philppe Starck (my favorite designer of all time… he is god to me) would build. The Gershwin is covered in bright-reddish magenta brick with several giant illuminated horns protruding several feet out over the street. You’re just going to have to look at my pictures. I made Erika and Yale go inside with me, where we stood in the lobby awkwardly while I snapped some photos, then we went on our way.

Yale had to go, so we said our goodbyes and headed back to the subway for destination #3: Harlem.

Eli, a friend of ours from college, moved to Harlem after graduation for Teach for America. He ended up quitting the program, but still lives in Harlem and loves it. He wanted to grab dinner with us, so we hopped a subway and next thing we know, we are on the streets of Harlem. There are people everywhere. We are the only white ones. We have to find 127th street. We walk fast and try to look as tough as we can for two dressed-up white girls. On our way down the street, we receive a call from Eli, telling us that he had to run down to Manhattan to drop off a key, and would be back in 15 minutes tops.

So. We are in the middle of Harlem. With nowhere to go. People are staring. We are feeling a little out of place and in slight fear of our lives. We decide to find a well-lit public place to hide out until Eli gets back into town. What better place than Popeye’s fried fucking chicken. Erika and I split a two-piece dinner, sit down, and eat cautiously, as we still feel great fear for our personal safety. 20 minutes pass. Eli calls to tell us that he still isn’t on his way back yet, and might be a while. Great. The window to our death continues to open further.

We decide to go find the Apollo. We end up wandering down Martin Luther Kind Blvd, still walking fast, still trying to look badass. Not working. I really want to take photos, but Erika won’t let me pull out my camera. Probably for the best. We end up finding an H&M and wander around until Eli finally meets us. Apparently he ran into George and Larry on the train. NYC may not be that big after all.

Walking back down MLK Blvd., Eli suggests that instead of cooking dinner, we check out a particular soul-food buffer on the next block. We comply. The buffet is crowded and smells like the south. There is every traditionally southern dish you can fathom. I get even more fried chicken, wings, green beans, potatoes, mac and cheese, cabbage, stuffing, all of that tasty southern shit. AND banana pudding. We are still looking painfully out of place, so we head to Eli’s apartment to dine on his rooftop.

There are few things I love more than rooftops. Other than the skyline at night. That’s nice too. But to have both, with fried chicken and banana pudding abound, is just a sensory overload. I’m in hood heaven. We sit on the roof, eat our southern goods, and discuss life, books, politics, etc etc… though I spend half of that time running around trying to take photos. I need to relax.

I have more plans for the night ahead of me. I am supposed to meet my friends Mark and Greg for a night out in Manhattan. I arrange to meet them at Mark’s house. Several factors make my trip somewhat complicated:

My phone’s dead.
I’m in the middle of fucking west Harlem.
Mark lives on the lower east side.
I am relatively far from the lower east side.
The only direct subway routes are now running local, since it’s after 9pm.
So… I don’t have a direct way to get to Mark’s. And I told him I’d be there by ten.

I use Erika’s phone to tell them we’re on our way, and we say our goodbyes to Eli. We decide the best thing to do is to take a bus down MLK blvd. to the 6 station, then take the 6 approximately 100 blocks south down to Mark’s hood.

Sounds easy. We hop on the bus. Oh so painfully out of place. I have my map out, trying to figure out what stop would be most conducive to finding the subway as quickly as possible.

A slight complication with the Harlem bus system – they have absolutely no indicator of where you are or what stop you are approaching. Most buses in the city have appeared to have either an electronic marquee indicating what street you are approaching, or the bus driver at least announces what stop you are approaching. Apparently you’re just supposed to know your shit in Harlem, and if you don’t, then you probably shouldn’t be there. Glad I got the memo.

I notice we are approaching Park Street. I think that’s our stop. Erika and I run off to find no subway in sight. We wander around the block for a minute, I almost get run over, we consult two dudes standing on the street for directions, they give us blatantly incorrect ones, so we proceed to wander until we run into the 6. Thank the fucking lord.

Longest subway ride to date: Park & 125th to Park & 27th. Unfortunately most of the subway crazies dwell during the daylight hours, so our entertainment was limited. We finally arrive at 27th. Mark’s at 27th and 3rd. We arrive not much later.

Mark and Greg are both NC natives. Greg attended NC State a few years ago, and is now an established artist with galleries in NYC. He also teaches at Pratt Art Institute. Mark went to UNC and Texas and is now working in the financial district of Manhattan.

Mark’s a lucky mother fucker. His apartment is in an amazing location and is not a piece of shit. At all. He says he pays about double what he used to pay in Brooklyn, but it was worth it to him. I can see it. We talked about foreign things (Mark = German, Greg = Polish, Erika = Spanish, I = Norwegian) and drank some Red Stripe, then headed on our way to a party at Astor Place.

Apparently this party is located in an 8th floor Manhattan penthouse, hosted by some real estate guru who recently purchased a couple of Greg’s works from his gallery. Guru is hosting a birthday party for Ruby, his friend/ladyfriend/lover, who owns a ridiculously unnecessary doggie accessory company: Bowhaus NYC. Greg had forgotten to RSVP, but still felt inclined to show up. With three friends.

The party was fun. We pretended we were established NYC somethings, met some interesting people, some not-so-interesting. I frequently took it upon myself to assume the role of bartender. I remember opening at least four bottles of champagne. I’ve decided that in regard to liquids, expensive things always taste better.

By the end of the party, we are sloppy. I was bonding with DJ Devymetal over the abundance raging male slutbags in society, and Erika was speaking in Ebonics. We look out onto the street below to see the giant rotating cube sculpture that so many tourist folk enjoy spinning in their spare time. At this moment, we see that some guy has actually managed to climb the sculpture and is actually riding the cube. He is staring up at our window, a good 100 feet up. We wave. He is flicking us off. Glorious.

The party has thinned out significantly. We say our goodbyes, Ruby thanks Greg for “bringing your friends and drinking our booze,” and we head on our way. We spend a significant amount of time trying to spin and mount the cube. Minimal success. Mark and Greg want to go dancing at Beauty Bar. I am more than willing to participate.

The dance floor is open this time. So we dance. I vaguely remember creating a dance to accommodate for my obscenely large purse… and performing a ridiculously overexaggerated dance routine behind the back of a random guy (we dubbed him “Seal”) who was trying to talk to Erika. I guess you just had to be there.

A guy approaches me and offers to buy me a drink. I politely decline. He talks for a while and actually turns out to be an interesting person, so I allow him to purchase a greyhound for me. Erika grabs it out of his hand as he tries to pass it to me, drinks half of it, then hands it to me. Thanks woman.

More dancing, more greyhounds. Eventually Mark and Greg pry me away from the bar because it’s 4:15 in the morning (last call is at 4 in NY).

Mark really wants to break into his work building. Apparently it’s one of the taller buildings around this part of town, and has an amazing view of surrounding Manhattan. I’m down. We all head into his building. Trying to act sober. Failing. I have no clue how we convinced the security guards to let us up, but after we all show him our ID’s he printed us four tickets to get us through the elevator security gates. We were in.

I remember wandering the hallways of this random building, spending a lot of time near the windows (the view definitely was worth it)… I also remember exploring the CEO’s kitchen and stealing a random photograph out of a crate, which still sits in my laptop bag. Erika is speaking several languages simultaneously at this point. A hodgepodge of French, Spanish, English, and Ebonics. Nobody understands her but nobody really cares at this point.

Basically the rest of the night is composed of running around Manhattan until about 6 in the morning. Pass out hard. Successful completion of the best day of my life.