Collapse and Applause

—That was Esai Morales.
—What?
—We just walked by Esai Morales.
—No, we didn't.
—Dude, I'm good at recognizing people. That was Esai Morales in the pink shirt.
—Well, why don't you run back and take a photograph with him?
—I don't want to disturb him. He's with his son.
—Right… Esai Morales… Sure…
—I'm telling you! That was Esai Morales!

To Steven's credit, he can identify actors in the smallest of film roles.

He also believes he can win the lottery.

Steven visited California over Labor Day weekend. We spent a few days up north and a few days down south.

I'm so sick of giving tours of my state to people I met online. This particular go-round forced me outdoors during a heat wave.

Pre-San Francisco

I hate driving in metropolises.

The Caltrain website said that parking might be scarce at its Mountain View station, so I opted to park and board at the San Antonio station a few minutes away.

After parking my car in the San Antonio Caltrain station's underground parking lot, I realized that I could only pay for a parking permit with quarters.

Train: missed.

Exiting my parking space to go get quarters, I backed into a concrete pillar.

Lexus taillight: smashed.

This is the second time I've smashed a car taillight backing into an inanimate object.

San Francisco

At Fisherman's Wharf, I saw a homeless person with a cat and a sign that said "Kitty Donation$."

Using a pet to panhandle is low. Moreover, is it really wise to take in a pet if you're homeless?

Why do magic shops always sell haha funny (not) bumper stickers?

The (usually black) men who paint themselves silver and gold and pretend to be statues at tourist traps make me rethink this whole "needing an actual job to survive" thing. I want to meet the idiot Samaritans who tip people for standing still.

While walking around the Castro district, Steven asked me if I'd ever seen a retarded homosexual. I said "no," and then started chuckling at the thought of a retarded homosexual.

I saw a man in a cafe wearing a t-shirt that said "Republicans for John Kerry."

Post-San Francisco

We arrived at the San Francisco Caltrain station a few minutes before our train was set to depart. The ticket machine I chose wouldn't accept coins, so I had to use the one beside it. After purchasing tickets, I ran to the bathroom and peed quickly.

The doors of our gate closed just as we approached.

Train: missed.

We boarded the next outbound train, but it didn't stop at the San Antonio station, only at the one after it (Mountain View).

Station: missed.

We wasted an hour walking from the Mountain View station to the San Antonio one to retrieve my damaged car.

Pre-Los Angeles

We rode Caltrain to the San Jose airport. I didn't want to pay $15 a day for long term parking.

At the LAX transit center, we waited an hour and not a single bus appeared. Apparently, there had been a bomb scare at the airport earlier in the day and security re-routed all city buses without telling anyone.

Los Angeles

We saw The Brown Bunny at the Nuart. Vincent Gallo's penis is a fuckin' space shuttle. Gallo fielded audience questions afterward. He kept dissing Wes Anderson in his responses.

—Last question!
—Did you cum?

Steven wanted to eat at Pink's. We waited an hour in easy-bake oven weather to eat hot dogs. During the wait, an old white man in an old white convertible with the top down drove by and honked his car horn repeatedly while flashing a Bush/Cheney '04 bumper sticker at everyone in line. He then pointed at random people in line before driving off.

Who did he think we were? Just because we support wieners in buns doesn't mean we dislike Dick and Bush (groan).

I saw a laundromat in West Hollywood that said "7 days a week… Sundays too!"

My updates on this site would be so much better if I had a digital camera.

Post-Los Angeles

Caltrain dropped me off at its Mountain View station. According to VTA timetables, the next 51 bus (which would take me home) would arrive in about an hour.

The bus never came. I spent an hour walking home in hot hot heat carrying a sleeping bag like a transient after wasting a little over an hour waiting for nothing.

I hate public buses. I've been stood up by so many fuckin' buses in my life. This is why I like trains. Trains rarely (if ever) no-show or show up late. I know what you're all probably thinking though: "That's because trains are male. Fag."

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