Ramblings from the Haight-Ashbury. Well not really, but you know...

So...3a.m in San Francisco. It probably sounds exciting, and it actually kind of is, in the way that you can't go outside or else you run the risk of being mugged by some crazy drunk motherfucker wearing a towel and a bandanna. Yes indeed. Welcome to the USA.

I'm only here overnight. I came down from Santa Rosa on a whim earlier in the day, which a decision I'm slightly regretting right at this moment due to the loud snoring of my roommate, who, I should add, is a 45 year old designer or something down from the coast for the annual gay pride meeting. In San Francisco? I know. Who would have thought? Seriously though...I'm down for the night due to the lack of decent guitar shops in Santa Rosa, which is an hour and a half up the road and where I've been staying for the last couple of weeks. It's a bit of a drag, especially since it means I'm going to have to disrupt everyones plans tomorrow morning since theyre going to have to come and pick me up from Santa Rosa, which I''m feeling slightly guilty about. But I think that's probably just 3.25am guilt.

I won't even begin to start on all the shit thats gone down since I've arrived; its starting to look like this might be as random a trip as the infamous tour of Australia earlier in the year. All I'll say is that I'm in town because I need to buy a decent guitar amp because I'm about to head off on tour with a Colorado singer-songwriter called Gigi Love. This should give you some idea of the randomness alreay-I might go into detail later, but right now, quite frankly, I can't be fucked.

Its been an interesting evening. I got into town around 7.15ish and was dropped off on the wrong side of the city but a well meaning but misguided bus driver, and so I had to walk miles to get to the inner city. It was worth it though, since San Fran is such a wicked place to walk through. I caught a show at a blues club down the road; some guy called...to be honest, I forget his name right now, which more or less sums it up. Apparently he used to play with blues legend Little Walter's band back in the day; the guy has been around for a while. I had dinner at a 24 hour 50s restaurant, where the staff all wore those pointed hats and dresses that look like nurses ones, which was pretty trippy. I had some interesting dealings with panhandlers; one told me I was too young, and when I didn't give him money he shouted across the street that i'd hurt his feelings. He also called me "nigga". The best one was some random who joined me outside the blues club: he told me that he played classical guitar and was a prodigy, and was so good that Andres Segovia looked at him and was like "whoa, slow down, your fingers are too fast!". He ended all this by saying "Listen. I'm just panhandling. Will you give me some money? I just want to go get drunk". I gave him a dollar. Nice guy.

So thats San Fran. I guess I'm going to have to go back and deal with the snoring pothead homosexual lying on the bunk underneath me. mm. Good times. God bless America.