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Get to da choppa!!!

Ah, a day in which I smelt Mary-Jane on more passers-by (note correct grammar; in English we never pluralise a verb. If you would say passer-bys, you are a bogan). I opted to follow my standard directive when in a new city and follow my walking-feet where they might take me. Based on today, San Francisco appears to be a city where, food excepted, one can find a full days intrigue without spending more than a dollar or two. I walked from my seedy hostel near Union Square to the Docks, then up around the shore finding interesting random humanity everywhere I went.

I am now prompted to segue onto a topic I have always much loved: boobs. I came upon thousands of pink-clad chicks (and a sprinkling of dudes) who love their boobs. It seems it is The 3 Day breast cancer fund-raiser festival in San Fran at the moment, and as photographic evidence testifies, they were camped in semi-hemispherical (one could even say, boob shaped) pink tents. One was brown. As I’ve said before on this tome of discovery, I have no antipathy to the brown ones. One of their slogans, on badges pinned to said boobs, was “Save 2nd Base”. One shudders to think what the equivalent slogan would be at a prostate cancer targeted event.

Moving on from this cheeky-yet-meaningful event, I went to Fort Point, under one end of the Golden Gate Bridge, where a fort has stood, in one form or another since Spanish times, having passed to the Mexican Republic, then the Californian Republic, and then the Union. The current fort dates from The Civil War, in which the commander of the time was a certain Col. Albert Sidney Johnston , a Southern gentlemen in the Union Army who would not hand over the keys to Confederate conspirators despite his sympathies, putting honour first, and then resigned his commission to join the Confederate Army, and became the highest-ranked officer to die in the war. Interesting.

While there, I attended a light artillery demonstration, and answered the call to volunteer in the cannon crew. Presented with the choice of assuming the role of runner or commander, I opted for runner, considering my taking charge or the cannon would effectively mean my taking the fort for the British Commonwealth on behalf of the Regent, and this would likely be a breach of my visa conditions. (on second thoughts, maybe I could have pushed the point and fulfilled 8-year–old Paul’s dreams and gotten now Governor Schwarzenegger on the phone). Thus, I gave the command over to a teenage girl, who, maybe based on my diligent adherence to international protocol, informed me I have nice eyes. Anyway, having faux-fired the cannon, we each got a certificate, and I headed off.

Next, I walked across the bridge and back again, and headed back to my hostel. As I approached said hostel and the sun went down, and various unsavoury types came out, including packs of the pink-clad chicks with lascivious looks in their eyes, I remembered the words of one of the umpteen Homeland Security guys I had to show this or that to at the airport: “Your not staying in Union Square? That’s a bad part of town”. Then I saw the sign above the place on the corner of the dark alley the hostel is down, a sign not noticed in daylight: Les Nuits de Paris Massage and Sauna. Classy and stuff. And it seems the hostel has over-booked my dorm tonight. And ah, the musical sound of sirens.


( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
Oct. 5th, 2009 04:46 am (UTC)
The seed(y) parts
One shudders to think what Union Square must be like for Homeland Security to warn you about it.

As far as the breast cancer campaign goes, I assume you saw the "Save 2nd Base" t-shirts? It would indeed be horrifying to see the prostate cancer campaign tack a similar tack.

May the joy of hostel dorms be yours for ever and ever ... or merely the length of your stay in San Fran ;)

-- Dr. Bob

PS: Professor Awesome is a fraud. He's not even a doctor!
Oct. 7th, 2009 12:24 am (UTC)
Re: The seed(y) parts
Yesss. We should line up all out friends with PhDs and then him at the end, so we can walk down the line shaking hands, going "Doctor... doctor... doctor... James". I'm sure he can cry into all the money he made leaving uni at a sensible time, in the comfort of the house he owns.... awww.
Oct. 7th, 2009 12:28 am (UTC)
Re: The seed(y) parts
Also Rob, did you like the Austrian Death Machine reference?
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )

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