Have a..

GROOVY HALLOWEEN!

This past Monday, Dorian and I toured a US Navy minesweeper.

This is because it was the end of Fleet Week here in San Francisco and I was in the US Navy a long time ago, so I always wanted to take Dorian aboard a US Navy ship. But we ended up on a minesweeper instead.

Okay, I’m being mean to minesweepers. But this is only because they’re a lot smaller than other Navy ships and they don’t shoot missiles or anything, and they’re made of wood.

There were a couple of US Navy ships made out of steel that were docked at the same pier, one being a guided missile cruiser and the other a guided missile destroyer. No, I don’t know what the difference is, other than one cruises and the other destroys. You’d think they’d each be capable of both of those things. Anyway, they were giving tours too, but we landed in a group that ended-up on the minesweeper.

This was because the US Navy was rotating the tours, in that they’d take 20 people out of this massive line we were in and assign them to go on the guided missile cruiser and then they’d assign 20 more to go on the guided missile destroyer and then the next 20 got the minesweeper.

A genuine US Navy Ensign came up to give us our tour and even though he introduced himself I can’t remember his name so I’ll just call him Ensign Bobo, because he looked like an Ensign Bobo. He seemed to enjoy being a crewman on a minesweeper but he kind of brightened up once we got to talking about the guided missile ships because he said he hoped to be assigned to one in the next few years.

This minesweeper, the USS Chief, is about the size of a commercial fishing boat and Ensign Bobo showed us a cool submersible submarine thingy that they put in the water to go after mines and detonate them, then he showed us this array on the back that he said they tow behind the mine sweeper to detect mines, and all of this was being said while other people were on the guided missile cruisers being shown guided missile systems.

I joked with him that I thought we were going to get to see a MIME SWEEPER, which the US Navy deploys to France and Golden Gate Park right here in San Francisco to clear out those pesky white-faced street performers. He didn’t seem to think that was funny as he caressed his side-arm while gazing at me with a look that said, “I already have to give this stupid tour on this dumb wooden boat, so don’t push it.”

Speaking of that, yes the minesweepers in the US Navy are the only Navy “ships” that are still made out of wood. This is because mines are magnetic and are designed to be attracted to the steel hull of regular ships.

We learned quite a bit about mine sweeping during this tour!

Ensign Bobo told us that Iran has the biggest stockpile of mines in the world, so US Navy minesweepers are actually useful because the Navy deploys them to that region as a “defense measure.” He said that Iran doesn’t actually put the mines in the water, because they know the US Navy has badass mine sweepers like this one that will sweep for their mines and then blow them up before the ships get there, so technically the US Navy minesweepers really have nothing to do.

This may account for why Ensign Bobo seemed so bored. I know the poor fella wants to get over to the guided missile cruisers someday and shoot missiles at actual targets, so I hope he gets his wish. But not really, because that would mean we’re at war again and we’ve had enough of that these past 20 years, don’t you think? Maybe he can spend his career shooting practice missiles at deserted islands, like we used to do when I was on a ship.

We’d go out off the coast of California and shoot our big gun at San Clemente island, and sometimes we’d shoot it at old Navy ships left over from world-war 2 that the Navy wanted to sink anyway, and sometimes we’d shoot our surface-to-air missile system at drones, which were just being developed then and had propellers.

We’d also shoot dummy anti-submarine missiles at our own submarines, which we never seemed to hit. That’s how good our own submarines are and how bad my old ship was, which is long gone now but the submarines are still around.

Okay, on to pictures of our minesweeper tour..

Dorian with a crewman from the USS Chief, our minesweeper, decked out behind them in patriotic red, white and blue bunting for Fleet Week 2011.

Dorian on the bridge of the USS Chief minesweeper as Ensign Bobo explains something-or-other to someone.

Me on the bridge of the USS Chief.

Dorian next to the helm control on the bridge of the USS Chief as Ensign Bobo answers questions behind her.

A US Navy patrol boat keeps a watchful eye on the minesweeper and guided missile ships moored nearby.

The USS Chief minesweeper with the array on the fantail that they put in the water to look for mines that are never there.

The Guided Missile Destroyer USS Milius.

Crewmembers stand on the fantail of the USS Milius as we walk by. In the background are the Bay Bridge and Treasure Island.

The Guided Missile Cruiser USS Antietam with a view of the Transamerica Pyramid being sucked into the fog.

The aircraft carrier USS Carl Vinson, framed by the Bay Bridge and the US flag on the fantail of the USS Antietam. The Carl Vinson made an appearance in San Francisco for Fleet Week but didn't give any tours.

Yesterday The Rhodester Chronicles got HACKED!

But it turned out it wasn’t just us. In one fell swoop
the hackers took down multiple sites including our friends at
Kings River Life dot COM and Dorian’s blog at Coffeesister.net!

But the fine folks at InMotion Hosting worked like
lighting to get it back up and running in no time at all.

Now we’re back on the air and ready to roll!

That is, unless another hacker pops in unexpectedly
and scares the bejeebers out of us.

Or if Firefox encounters a problem with Windows..

In which case we’ll just have to wait on the forces in control
to figure out what’s going on and devise a plan of attack..

Then we can get back to blogging!

Let’s drink to that..

I FOUND HER!

Young and gorgeous Devon Jenkin

Actually, a friend of mind did. “Look at this..” he said, as he sent a link to “”Devon Jenkin,” who now goes by Devon Kidd. “It’s the girl from Tom Petty’s Free Fallin’ video!”

Older and gorgeous Devon Kidd

Well I’ll be darned, it sure is.

In 1989 we all crushed on her. I mean all of us straight guys, and the gay girls. The straight girls wanted to BE her.

She was perfect.

“She’s a good girl, loves her mama.. loves Jesus, and America too. She’s a good girl, crazy ’bout Elvis.. loves horses, and her boyfriend too.”

We loved her and her pool, along with her pretty white dress and party balloons. We loved those shorts she wore while chowing down on a Future Dog, and her skateboard and knee-pads later on, when she nervously took the plunge and showed the guys what she had.

We loved her, but hated Tom. How could he break her heart? How could he NOT EVEN MISS HER? HUH?

Had he SEEN her? It wasn’t just the glow, man, really! It was the innocence too, and the naivety. We wanted to put our arm around her and comfort her, offering our protection from those Ventura Boulevard vampires.

Then after the party we’d take her out for a hotdog.

“It’s a long day, livin’ in Reseda.. there’s a freeway, runnin’ through the yard. And I’m a bad boy, ’cause I don’t even miss her.. I’m a bad boy, for breakin’ her heart.”

Jerkwad.

We remember MTV’s Martha Quinn referring to her as “that gorgeous blonde on the skate ramp.” Martha didn’t even know her name! None of us did.

Young-uns need to realize that this was a really long time ago. Not by world standards or as far as the universe is concerned and all of that, no.. it was just a long time ago by pop-culture standards and our individually brief and fleeting lives.

Believe it or not, we didn’t have the Internet back then. We couldn’t Google “girl in Tom Petty video” and get instant answers. We didn’t even have Britney! Well, we DID have a “Britney”.. her name was “Madonna.” She’d made a name for herself by the time Tom’s Free Fallin’ video was made. We’re not sure what she’s doing nowadays.

But we know what Devon’s up to, thanks to that GOOGLE! She still loves Jesus, but now she teaches fitness and sells real estate, and you know what? We’re not in the least bit surprised at any of that. Devon is the quintessential Southern California blonde, still hot and strikingly beautiful, with an aura of sweet warmth and charm that renews every old crush.

We bet she doesn’t miss old Tom in the least. She looks to be healthy and happy, having enjoyed over twenty years of minor pop celebrity. She probably shops at Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s, and guys like us still stare her to death before finally getting up the nerve to approach her near the yogurt section, saying, “Excuse me, but aren’t you that girl from the Tom Petty video?”

“I want to glide down, over Mulholland.. I want to write her, name in the sky. I want to free fall, out into nothin’.. I want to leave this, world for a while.”

Devon Kidd trades in the skateboard for a parachute on her forty-somethingth *cough* birthday..

Kerli at SFPride 2011 - photo by Dave Rhodes

On Sunday June 26th, San Francisco threw a party in our backyard in celebration of gay pride. These videos tell the story..

VIDEO ONE (14:58) – Dave and Dorian awake to popstar Kerli doing a sound-check in their room, followed by gay cowboys line-dancing to Lady Gaga on their bed.

Then they go down to see the parade, which seems to consist almost entirely of the back of people’s heads. At the parade they meet a guy named Arthur, whose face gets really excited while he’s talking to Dave.

After that it’s off to Civic Center where a San Francisco band called “Stiletto Ghetto” has taken the main stage, while all kinds of people in all kinds of outfits walk around being all kinds of insane..

LINKS - The Dancing gay cowboys are called “The Sundance Bandits,” and along with the country/western venue outside our window they are sponsored by San Francisco’s Sundance Saloon – Mr. Natural teaches music in Haight Ashbury - Stiletto Ghetto can be heard in this clip, so rock their YouTube channel.

VIDEO TWO (14:57) – While taking a break in the room, we get something from GREASE and SHANIA TWAIN, then it’s back down to the plaza to wait in line several months for a beer.

Linda Perry is onstage with her band Deep Dark Robot, followed by The Queen Diva, Big Freedia and her booty bouncin’ babes. Kerli wraps up the clip with “Army of Love” and “Walking On Air.”

Dave discovers that concert speakers ten feet high do not translate well to a hand-held video camera. You will discover this too, so basically we’re just digging the visuals here, right?  Rock on.

LINKS - Linda Perry still rocks the house – Big ol’ booties bounce along with BIG FREEDIA – Kerli kills us with sweet bubblegoth for her moonchildren.

VIDEO THREE (3:48) - Luciana destroys Dave’s mic on the video cam, but we forgive her because she’s absolutely one HELL OF A LIVE PERFORMER.

We return to the room after the whole thing is over and Dave calms the freaked-out cat while miscreants rip up the dance-floor in the bank parking lot.

LINK - LUCIANA’S WEBSITE ROCKS!

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EXTRAS..

Stills of Kerli performing live..

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Onstage at SFPride KERLI performed two hits, “Army of Love” and “Walking on Air.” Here are her stunningly creative and visionary videos to those songs, plus another called “Tea Party.”

YouTube user jbuckenthal was in attendance at SFPride and got much better clips of Kerli performing live. The audio on these is pretty decent..

ARMY OF LOVE

WALKING ON AIR

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RANDOM YOUTUBE find of the CENTURY – Evidently the guy standing behind us at Luciana’s set knows all the words to her songs. You can see Dorian’s hat (with the white dots) directly in front of him through most of this clip, and my right arm on her shoulder (rainbow wristband). At 5:04 is a very nice shot of Dorian’s arm appreciating the song.

Oh, and apparently NOBODY has a mobile device that can handle Luciana’s music..

Thanks YouTube user grytestriped for posting that. And thanks also for not picking my pocket because apparently, you could have.

Some more kick-ass LUCIANA videos..

—————————————-

Linda Perry and Deep Dark Robot..

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Big Freedia, The Queen Diva!

..from my TUMBLR

(because we’re lazy on Mondays)

If you really want to impress the chicks,
a straw-beard is the way to go.

Waves of PURPLE

Our neighbor Mary dropped by for a visit.

We had a nice chat about this and that.

Then she asked Dorian how she was feeling.

“I’m having a rough day,” Dorian said. “My head is splitting and it’s hard to concentrate.”

Mary then closed her eyes and started waving her hand repeatedly at Dorian’s head.

“Have some purple healing waves,” she said. “Purple is for the brain.. so here, purple.. PUUUUURPLE…”

She waved and waved and waved.

After a few minutes of continuous purple waving she finally stopped, bid us adieu and left.

Life in San Francisco.

When hipsters die and go to heaven

All sleep and no play makes kitty a very, very dull feline

How not to pass a bus driving test. Or in the case of
San Francisco Muni, how to PASS a bus driving test

When someone sins at Disneyland

Don’t be TOO impressed, they’re just MERE CATS *cough*

Shania Twain mentors her apprentice,
Taylor Swift, on the art of handling critics.

I'm careful to show my ticket at all times when in the "paid area" of the train station

Yesterday was my birthday, so Dorian and I decided to go out on the town to celebrate my getting one year closer to filling the inside of an urn.

We decided the occasion called for a beer.

We didn’t know where we’d have the beer as we didn’t really make any plans, but San Francisco is cool that way because you can walk almost anywhere in the city and come across things you haven’t discovered before, so you go, “Hey, that looks cool!” and then you go in.

We went to The Castro District first, which is the gay mecca of San Francisco if not the world, because our bank is there and we needed money for our little adventure.

Our bank isn’t gay, I don’t think, but it’s like a block from Harvey Milk’s famous camera store so it’s at least gay friendly. I’m sure our bank and the camera store are good friends, and our bank goes to some of the gay parties that the camera store invites it to, just to be supportive, and maybe even they go shopping together, like on Sundays because that’s when the bank is closed.

Dorian adopts some hippies in the Castro

While leaving the bank, we came across some modern-day hippies who’d strategically placed themselves near an ATM to hustle for handouts. Their names were Lilly and “Clive.”

I put “Clive” in quotes because I can’t post the name he gave me, due to this being a family-friendly blog and I don’t want to shock your aunt Mabel.

Our conversation started because Lilly complimented Dorian on her artsy appearance, then I told them a story about seeing my first hippie in 1968 right here in San Francisco, then they complimented me on how well I was functioning given my age, since I’d just admitted to being sentient in 1968. They were impressed that I walk unaided and that they didn’t have to shout for me to hear them, although I admit I faked hearing almost half of what they said. Lilly is from a southern California city called Sam Dayglo and “Clive” arrived here last year, having itched a slide all the way from something called “the Nexus.”

We also pondered why people call them “modern-day hippies,” when the hippies in 1968 were “modern-day hippies” too, beings how it was modern day to THEM, back then.

Then we smoked a bowl and complimented irony.

I mean contemplated. We contemplated irony.

I almost said “comprehended.” We did that too, but just barely, ironically enough.

After I gave Lilly and Clive a couple of bucks for letting me take their picture and for giving back my wallet, Dorian and I decided to go out to a neighborhood called “West Portal,” because we seem to go to the Castro a lot and on this adventure we wanted to go somewhere where there weren’t any hippies we hadn’t visited much.

We hopped a train to get there and then walked around for a bit, until we came across a Mexican joint called “La Taqueria,” or something, so we decided to go in and have dinner.

Oh wait, the name is up on the sign.. *squints*.. EL TOR.. TOREEE.. UH.. DOR.. Ah, El Toreador! Yes, I know it well.

We had to wait for a table, which never takes over five minutes at Mexican restaurants when I flash my fake INS badge at the host.  We told him we’d be out front, because Dorian wanted to show off the new outfit she’d recently bought and have me take her picture.

Okay, the picture was my idea, so it’s not like she’s going around saying “Take my picture, I have a new outfit!” We just need to be clear on that.

We also didn’t tell the host WHY we’d be out front because we didn’t think he needed to know all the details about her outfit and the picture, because it seemed as though just telling him we’d be there would suffice. It turns out we were right because he never even asked, he just came out and got us when a table opened up.

Before he did that though, we were checking out the Peet’s Coffee next to the restaurant and made a snap decision to go have coffee there after our dinner because it was kind of close.

Once inside, we were seated at our table and Dorian grabbed the camera to take a picture of me, so this is what her view was like all through dinner..

I know, that chick in back over my shoulder is really cute, eh? LUCKY DORIAN!

I had an Alleycat beer, which comes in a ginormous bottle. This place has a selection of approximately 4, 392 beers from hundreds of foreign countries like France, Africa, Amsterdam and Arizona.

Dorian told me I resembled the alleycat on the label of the beer and I wasn’t sure how to take that, so I ate half her dinner.

I wonder what the alleycat on the label is drinking? It’d be pretty weird if it’s not an Alleycat beer, huh?

But if it is, then what label is on the bottle of HIS beer? It couldn’t be the label he’s posing for, because that didn’t exist yet due to the fact that he’s in the act of posing for it right then and there. No wonder they show him drinking it from a glass instead! Showing the label could theoretically unravel the entire space/time continuum.

I ponder these things. Especially after a 22 ounce Alleycat Beer that followed so closely on the tail of a hippie encounter in the Castro.

El Toreador has almost every kind of beer imaginable yet they still serve Bud and Coors, presumably to appease customers who are lacking in imagination.

El Toreador is a very colorful restaurant. They have a lot of splashy props and stuff, including fake birds and plants. You know that attraction at Disneyland where you go into the tiki-hut and it has all these birds that crack jokes and sing to you?

Well, El Toreador is exactly like that, except their birds don’t crack jokes or sing. They don’t even move, really, unless you’ve had more than a few Alleycats.

We left El Toreador and decided to blow off the Pete’s Coffee next door because it had closed by the time we got out so we thought, “Geez, if they can’t stay open like an hour later just so we could get a coffee then fine, they’re not getting OUR BUSINESS.”

We walked over to the West Portal train station to catch a train downtown because we decided to go to The Coffee Bean near Powell and Market instead.  We knew it’d still be open and we have friends who work there, because we go there all the time, and the staff decided long ago that they might as well be nice to us because they weren’t going to get rid of us very easily.

Fortunately the next train to come along was going downtown, which wasn’t a big surprise because on that side of the platform they ALL go downtown..

The train to take us downtown approaches at a high rate of speed, like, 7 miles per hour or something.

When we got down to The Coffee Bean it turned out that Kristie was the Barista, and she made us a couple of cappuccinos. She’s very friendly, super cute and possibly single, so if there are any guys reading this who are interested then just email her at Kristie@gothefuckaway.com or add her on Facebook.. her name is Kristie Backthefuckoffmothafuckabeforedavebeatsyoass. I think she’s Norwegian or something.

Kristie makes Kappuccinos while Dave Kompliments her.

Another short train ride to get home had us disembarking at Civic Center Station where Sam Austin can be found swinging his Sax around on most nights. Sammy is a cool cat who spins some righteous notes that waft through the air and light on the fancy of all who pass by. Then they hopefully toss a buck into his cup.

Sammy and Davy, swingin' cool and smooth as gravy.

We made it back safe and sound, so here I am posting about it while I continue to compliment the irony of it all.

I mean comprehend the irony. No wait.. contemplate.

It might be time for bed. Goodnight.

Chef Ben and Dorian at the Crème brûlée cart Market and Sutter

If you’re an entrepreneur who happens to be an excellent dessert chef and you’re looking at making a few bucks by selling a wide variety of crème brûlée out of a sidewalk cart in San Francisco, well just stop right there bucko, because Ben beat you to it.

This guy’s got it covered and he even tweets about it, which is how we first became aware of him.

Mrs. Rhodester and I had our 21st anniversary yesterday and one of the things she wanted to do was go downtown to Market and Sutter, which is where Ben sets up a few days a week.

I don’t know his last name, so we’ll just call him “Bèn Crûlée.”

This was the first time we’ve been free to get down there and sample his wares. We dig him on Twitter because he’s a funny guy, so we thought “Hey, if he bakes crème brûlée as well as he tweets, then it’s certainly worth trying out!”

We’re awfully glad we did. It was late in the afternoon so he was out of everything except the honey-vanilla bean, but it was fantastic. We snagged it to go, even though it’s really all “to go” but you could eat it there at the cart if you wanted too, then we headed a few blocks south to La Boulange, where we ordered a couple of the best cappuccinos you’ll find anywhere.

For those of you who think a slice of Denny’s apple pie with a cup of coffee is technically “dessert,” then here’s a bit of education for you..

“Crème brûlée” is of European origin, possibly French, because it’s a French phrase that loosely translates as “Cream that fell from heaven onto your tongue and caused you to orgasm.” We actually had it in France one time, in Paris for our fourth anniversary, so you’d think we’d know good crème brûlée, but we realized we didn’t until we had some of Ben’s.

The French really like to top off their fancy desserts with funny accents sprinkled on top, which why you have to spell it “Crème brûlée.” Also, it confuses the Germans.

It’s sort of a small custard pie that has a burnt caramel topping which the chef hardens with a hand-held blowtorch just before serving.

We were served bad crème brûlée once, at The Black Sheep Pub in Ashland Oregon, when we lived up there in the nineties. We’re not knocking the place – we actually dig “The Sheep” and always loved a nice dinner and a pint there – but they just hired a clueless dessert chef one time who made crème brûlée that resembled caramel-coated manhole covers.

When we complained to the server that it was uneatable because they didn’t provide us with jackhammers to break through the surface, we were unexpectedly invited into the kitchen to show the new dessert chef how it was done.

Mrs. Rhodester went because I try to avoid kitchens at every opportunity, and she showed the guy how to ladle the topping on in a very thin layer and then only torch it for a few seconds so that it got all hard and crispy, but remained fragile enough to tap with a fork and break through to the golden custard filling.

They ended up perfect, and the chef thanked her. I know this is a really unlikely story on par with being kidnapped by aliens (then forced to make them crème brûlée onboard their spaceship), but it really did happen and that was the best crème brûlée we’d ever had, until yesterday.

So if you live in San Francisco or will be visiting soon, make it a point to catch-up with Bèn Crûlée and the Crème brûlée Cart.

Follow him on Twitter or Facebook to get his location announcements, menu offerings and mostly hysterical quips, then ask for the “Yes Please,” a Nutella infused crème brûlée with balsamic strawberries inside, which he had run out of yesterday. You have to get there early for it, which is our plan for the next visit to the cart.

“Fresh and tasty crème brûlée for you today?”

“YES PLEASE!”

At the Crème brûlée cart Market and Sutter

Cappuccinos and Crème brûlée at La Boulange

Technical Note - It turns out the Crème brûlée Cart enterprise is run by a guy named Curtis, and that Ben is an associate who doesn’t actually do any tweeting or promotion – that’s all Curtis. I didn’t know this because of the extensive research I didn’t do before posting.

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FOLLOW the crème brûlée cart on TWITTER

FAN the crème brûlée cart on FACEBOOK

WHAT OUR CAT LOOKS LIKE..

WHAT OUR CAT THINKS HE LOOKS LIKE..

I was fooling around online last week with Tumblr, which mostly seems to be a place where people post silly pictures.

I came across this..

“WOW!” I thought to myself. “Are these on sale at Target?”

Then I thought, “But do I really want one, because.. you know..
I’ve heard they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”HAHA!

So I continued on, and what did I see a little bit later?

“Hey, wait a doggone minute! What’s going on here? Is this some kind of new fad or something?”

I decided to Google the term “shopping cart girls,” and this is what happened..

Even this little lady managed to sneak in somehow..

Okay, so apparently there is some kind of sale going on.

But I couldn’t possibly get them ALL, because then I’d have to FEED THEM..

April 18th, 1906

We came to this great city just over two months ago, my love and I, crossing over on a ferry and stepping foot onto the dock at exactly six in the evening.

I still hear the clock tower of the ferry building chiming a welcome to us as the brisk wind of February tugged at our coats and threatened to blow our hats into San Francisco bay. It was as if the city were playfully teasing us with a joyful ceremony in which nature herself took part. We’d arrived at last, and the wind opened its very arms to embrace us with cool, chilly kisses.

We hired a carriage upon arrival and went looking for a proper hotel. Not too expensive, but one free of miscreants and the like, or at least as free of them as can be for the price range we sought. We happened onto the Hotel Marybelle and have been ever since. That is, until this morning.

I’ve been trying to get on with the paper and working on a book in my spare time. She was helping out at the hotel with finances and expense reports, a task which lowered our rent. We didn’t expect to meet such amiable hosts as our current hotel owners and feel lucky that divinity steered us in their direction. Our savings amount to only so much and they agreed to help us by letting us help them.

It may seem silly to some that we came here with only dreams in our heads and no plans in our pockets, but what do they know? We’ve long since considered this place our home and always had intent to return, but it wasn’t until late 1905 that it even became a possibility. I was here years before, serving on a merchant vessel as a yeoman, but I gave up the seafaring life upon meeting her. We both hailed from different parts of California so it was no surprise to me to discover that she had visited the city on frequent occasion during childhood, when her mother brought her to see the ocean, and she had fallen in wide-eyed wondrous love with the essence of it.

I came as a child too, taking annual treks in with my parents to visit a great aunt and uncle who have long since walked off into the foggy mist of eternity, but who still hold a special place in my heart. It was my uncle who first took me aboard a ship in the port of San Francisco and watched with a wily grin as I peppered the crew with questions. I think he knew he had a young seaman in the making!

We love this bright city of grandiosity and things yet undiscovered. We revisit places that we’ve grown fond of and seek out new things, and rather constantly at that. The diverse peoples provide an endless source of amusement and wonder, and we feel as if we’ve both traveled the world while not even stepping outside the borders.

Lately we have seen a need to watch our expenses despite the benevolence of our current landlords, but last night we went out despite our frugality. Odd for a Tuesday, but I have no work as of yet to worry me and she wasn’t to begin her next round of bookkeeping until this coming Monday. We felt restless, as if something were stirring in the very air we breath, and it jiggled our bones to the core. We needed to be together and not holed in a room reading books, as nice a little room as it is. We needed to  dine out and then take in the sights of this grand and busy city, full of light and souls and song.

Word was that the great tenor, Enrico Caruso, was in town performing in Carmen at the Tivoli. Had we the funds to attend such a gala we would have! But our meanderings took us to a small, inviting restaurant not far from the Marybelle and it was there we had a quiet supper and conversation. I’m now glad that’s the way it turned out.

We were back by ten and snuggled in by eleven. Our second room floor overlooks busy Mission Street, so the clip clop of horses with the occasional motorcar and conversation from inebriated passersby expertly lulled us to sleep as usual.

I awakened hours later and didn’t bother with any light, it was an easy trip through the door and down the hall to the left. I’ve gotten to where I can hit the pot with my eyes closed and half asleep, so that’s what I did, unaware of the time but aware of the darkness and the silence. The drunken ones had long since laid down to sleep it off and with the horses stabled, the street was eerily quiet at that time in the morning.

I’d just finished my business and was headed back through the doorway when hell paid a visit. A tremendous roar rushed in and I was thrown against the wall with such force I imagined a thousand stampeding horses of fury had just trampled the building. The shaking was of such a violent nature I screamed out but the sound of it was immediately engulfed in the cacophony. All around me the building shook as if it were a stuffed doll in the teeth of a vicious dog, who rendered it to little shreds. Works of art, vases and books flew past me and became debris, flashes of bright light accompanied sounds of sudden explosions all about, and the room I had been about to walk into suddenly disappeared in a swirling flash.

All I could think of was her. She was sleeping so peacefully in that room and now it was gone, seemingly in the blink of an eye but during a ferocious buffeting that seemed to go on endlessly. It eventually ceased but I couldn’t tell you if it had endured for seconds, minutes or the entire month of April.

As dust settled and parted from around me I saw that I still stood in that doorway but it was now a precipice, with rubble below and sky above. I don’t know how it was that I was unscathed except for a few cuts and bruises, but for that I praise and thank the Lord while cursing him at the same time for taking my beloved and leaving me to grieve. I wasn’t resigned to her exit yet, though, so I grabbed some pipes that hadn’t seemed to be there moments before and slid down to the rubble to dig and dig and dig, until my hands were bleeding and nails tore from my fingertips, and then to dig some more.

It’s not that I watched the time, but in retrospect now I think it was a good half hour before I uncovered the awful truth that the Lord had taken half my life away. I used the bed sheet to wrap her for the sake of dignity and then I forced myself to the duty of attending to those who could still utter breath enough to slightly scream. It was a small hotel, this Marybelle, and the thirty rooms seemed to have yielded a handful of survivors including myself.

I saw Grace Jackson stumble out onto the street holding her little dog, and Max Sherwood was able to help me pull some rubble off Mrs. Swenson, so he’s attending to her wounds now. I ripped up another bed sheet and applied it to old Mr. Willis’ arm to stanch the bleeding, so now I’m taking a breather to gather my wits about me for the task I know lies ahead.

While digging through the rubble to find my loved one, I managed to come across my journal. I hope you can read the hastily scrawled words despite the blood smears that my hand creates. I tried to clean off as best I could, but there doesn’t seem to be water, which is unfortunate given the fires that are growing increasingly fierce all around me. I’ll soon have to finish up and tuck this missive away for the future, then Mrs. Swenson and Mr. Willis must be moved to the street before the rubble is rendered into an inferno. I was hoping for something to be done for my love, even in this state, but I guess cremation awaits. That’s okay because I know she’s no longer there, but awaits me in heaven instead.

But first I have much to do, so I best be at it. It’s now seven in the morning and I know I’ll be tending to the injured for days if not weeks to come. God help us quench these fires that are just beginning to cause the air to reek of the stench of death.

I must not think of her any longer. There will be time for that later but for now, I have much to do. So very much to do.

 

——————————————————————

The weather in San Francisco is rather nice today so I was going to go for a stroll in Golden Gate Park.

I’ve since reconsidered..

photo by aclark on twitpic

THE PARKS RULES AND REGULATIONS FUNCTION TO PROTECT PEOPLE, PETS AND WILDLIFE.

• Keep your distance from Velociraptors. Neither adults nor children should approach or feed wildlife of any kind.
• Velociraptors are typically more active in the evening, early morning and near khaki shorts and bush hats. You may want to be especially aware during those times.
• If you are a pet-owner, keep your pet on-leash and under your control when it is outdoors. Velociraptors may consider your pet a tasty snack.
• If you have an encounter with a Velociraptor within 50 feet please scare off the animal by loud shouting or clapping aggressively. You may throw a small stone. Under no circumstances say “clevah girl.”

Our new router and modem, both of which were designed by Cylons

Dorian and I have us some blazing, broadband Internet now!

We have in the past, of course. Gosh, we’re not newbies. But we haven’t had it for a while due to a string of bad luck.

We came to San Francisco from Palm Springs, where I was laid-off from a perfectly good job and couldn’t find another, despite wearing my best tie to the scant few job interviews I got. We figured we might have better luck here, and we have, in a way. Or maybe you could just call it “different luck.”

Anyway, we lived in a hotel for the first few months here that had a wonky wifi house system with a router that was older than our cat. Technically speaking that’s not a good thing, because we have an old cat. The signal would bounce in and out while zipping up and down and fluctuating at the same time. If someone in #302 decided to download porn we’d get screwed.

We didn’t stay there past the initial few months and subsequently bounced from one weekly rate hotel to another while trying to find a room for rent in a house or something, all to no avail.

A few months ago we landed at this residential hotel on Market Street and we got “residential status,” which is a big friggen deal in San Francisco. It’s one of those things that you who live elsewhere take for granted, like good broadband internet available at work and in your home, decent rental and mortgage rates and passers-by who DON’T potty on your sidewalk.

One of our friendly neighbors sets up a campsite below our window, and rolls his weed while Mr. Conservative passer-by looks on.

But we don’t begrudge you any of that because hey, we’re the ones who chose to live here, and hey, we actually LIKE IT, despite high rents and the despicable toilet habits of some of our homeless neighbors.

But when we rented this room we discovered that we were renting a bed, closet, toilet usage (down the hall, which is better than the sidewalk) and a sink. No fridge, no microwave, no stove and (shudder) no INTERNET.

Luckily, I discovered a public wifi signal wafting through our window that was called “PUBLIC 11.” I have no idea where it came from, but if I moved my netbook within a foot or two of the window I could log-on. At three feet it went away.

Dorian joined me with her Macbook so there we were, both huddled at a tiny desk next to the window, patiently waiting for the very-slow PUBLIC 11 signal to acknowledge us.  But there was no streaming video or even audio. Yes, it was that bad. We’d often get kicked-off and have to wait ten minutes or so for the signal to reacquire. We’d have like five minutes online, ten off, then ten on if we were lucky followed by another ten off.

If we really needed to do something important online or catch up on stuff we’d just pack-up and go to The Coffee Bean a few blocks down, thus all those frequent trips there I’ve talked about.

The Coffee Bean Market Street

But no more. We finally broke down and decided that if we just ordered AT&T DSL, which is the only service provider in this building, we’d be spending as much on our broadband bill as we’d been spending on cappuccinos and lattes. We had to wait a week for our order to be activated, but that happened last night so here we are! BLAZING AWAY! I actually watched stuff on HULU last night!

I can’t believe the technological advancements either. The router AT&T sent us looks like something that would have been clandestinely placed on board the Gallactica by Cylons. The last router we had was the size of a Volkswagen and I’d swear it had rabbit ears. Also, the sites I haven’t visited in a long time due to not having a decent connection – I mean, what’s up with HULU and VEVO and all their fancy java shit now? YouTube is even better, as is Tweetdeck.

Seriously, I haven’t been able to use all of that stuff in ages.

We know you’re all like, “Hey, fast Internet is no big deal, we have it on our little phones and shit” but you need to know that for us, it’s flashy and new.. again.

This is the technical equivalent of not having to potty on the sidewalk.

anthony3, originally uploaded by daverhodester.

This is Anthony. He’s my friend.

He “lives” on the corner of Hyde and Market, most of the time, and another part of the time in the downtown library branch when it’s open.

He sleeps on a steam grate over by the library somewhere.

He also sells flowers on days that the Farmers’ Market has closed and has a bunch left over. He often gifts Dorian with a bouquet when we walk by, being sure to pick out the nicest, freshest and most purplish kinds he can find because she likes purple. He then wraps it up for her in a newspaper. He charges other people a dollar a bouquet, but he’s never charged us.

We call these flowers “rescues,” since they were going to be tossed but have found a new life at the last moment.

We wish Anthony were a rescue, but we don’t have the means to help him. A lot of it starts with him anyway, and his determination to get off the street. It’s not easy but it sure was easy to land there, according to him.

By the way, he’s one of the smartest, most articulate and well-read guys I’ve ever met. I first saw him when he sat at a table near me in the library and started reading a book. We didn’t know each other then.

A librarian came over and in low, hushed tones, they discussed a book series. She asked him his opinion and he gave her a very detailed, well thought-out one. I remember thinking, “Wow, this guy is only shabby on the OUTSIDE.”

We talked a few days later. Got to know each-other. We talk all the time now, whenever I’m going to or from the train.

I hope only good things for him. They may not happen, but I hope anyway.

Anthony is my friend.

The other night I had to go to Safeway.

It’s an easy run.. I walk a block to the train station, go below, grab any train going outbound and get off at Church. It’s right there.

You could say, I go to Church several times a week.

I took the camera. This is the Safeway, aka “AF WAY,” after it’d just been raining..

It isn’t my favorite supermarket in town. That distinction goes to Trader Joe’s for a number of reasons.

The Church Street Safeway is pretty average and nothing special, it’s just that it’s open 24-hours and in a GREAT location for easy access, so it’s usually pretty crowded.

One drawback is that the entry is frequently crowded with panhandlers  and petition gatherers. One must wade through a chorus of “spare any change?” and “can I get a moment of your time?”

NO! Fuck the back off! Sounds crass, but when you live here it gets tiresome. If I gave change to everyone who asked while on this journey and stopped to answer questions, I’d be about ten bucks poorer and an hour later than I wanted to be.

There’s one lady who is ALWAYS there with her clipboard and she ALWAYS asks for “a moment of my time” and I ALWAYS decline, yet she still ALWAYS asks. One of these days I’m going to cave and put all kinds of creative information on her petition.

Another guy is frequently trying to sell a food card. “Double your money! There’s twice as much value on the card as I’m asking in cash!” Dude, does your sponsor know you’re doing this?

Below is Saint Francis Lutheran on Church Street across from Safeway.

You just knew there would be a church or two (or like, seven) on Church Street, right?

The plaque says it was built in 1905 and sheltered/fed quake victims during the aftermath of the 1906 quake. GO Saint Francis! GO Lutherans! GO history! GO cool reflective pavement showing pretty colors after a rainstorm!

After having gotten groceries and snubbed panhandlers at Safeway, I wait for the return train at a stop across from “Out of the Closet.”

We love this thrift store that’s on the edge of the Castro for its friendly staff, frequent half-off deals and free HIV testing. We try to avail ourselves of the latter as much as possible even though we don’t shoot drugs into our arms with dirty needles or have sex with multiple strangers, because hey, it’s FREE!

About 20 minutes to get here, a half-hour in the store and 20-30 to get back.. the whole run takes about an hour. Not bad for no car.

hobo in the rain, originally uploaded by daverhodester.

One of San Francisco’s best hot-spots for lunch, especially on Valentine’s Day, is this lovely trashcan on Market Street near Larkin.

Some scalawag went and gifted us here at The Rhodester Chronicles with a camera..

LOOK!

Thanks, scalawag!

They said they got a new one for Christmas and wanted to see more photos of San Francisco, so they sent us their old one.

It may be old but it’s new to us.

It’s a 6.0 megapixal digital cam, which isn’t fantabulous but it’s better than a bucket of snot in a windstorm.

We don’t know what that means.

It’s also better than the first digital camera we purchased, which was in like 1995 or something. Seriously, people’s faces wouldn’t show up. According to that camera we all just had heads with pale blobs of flesh where faces usually are.

This one is a darned sight better, and we’ve already got a bunch of pics to share with you from around town. Here are a few samples..

Hibernia Bank Building, two blocks down from us at Jones and McAllister. A hauntingly beautiful crackhead haven.

The Coffee Bean (at street level) is Rhodester's oft-mentioned hangout. Towering above is the San Francisco Grand Hyatt.

Our current digs are on Market Street. This is our view while lying in bed at night.

Our pal Mister Davis, security guard at the Burger King on the corner. He'd just finished having an argument with two girls over restroom usage when this was taken.

Sam and Roy are in the Civic Center train station almost daily.

Sam Austin on Sax. A brief chat with Sam and Roy happens several times a week while Rhodester commutes on the train.

The Coffee Bean on Market Street again, not far from the corner of Powell and Market.

We’ll continue to post some here but not all, so if you want to catch them all as they come then check-out our FLICKR account and, if you’re so inclined, subscribe to our Flickr stream.

While we were at it, we also just HAD to go and make a TUMBLR BLOG too, where we post some of these photos along with witty captions.

SUBSCRIBE TO IT HERE.

This is because Tumblr, just like Flickr, is too fancy to have an “e” toward the end and when we see things that fancy we just have to join.

Tumblr is also a really interesting way to blog. You need to have a Tumblr account yourself and check it all out from “the dashboard” to see what we’re talking about. Of course you can still go to the blog itself but it’s a lot more fun to use the dashboard and sort through the posts of all your fellow Tumblrs.

It’s sort of like using a reader, but not really. But it is a bit, kind of, but closer to using, uh.. Tumblr, because it “tumbles” through the posts.

Thus the name, I guess.

Even Dorian, aka coffeesister, is now using Tumblr.

Subscribe here.

Or just sign yourself up and add Rhodester and Mrs. Rhodester to your Tumblr “stream.”

“Twitter?’ What’s THAT?

Merely a bucket of snot in a windstorm, my friend.

————–

Fun people we’re following on Tumblr, which means you should follow them too..

Merlin Friggen’ MANN, man.

Some PICS AND QUOTES that happen to be more entertaining than most pics and quotes out there.

Her name is JANE. That’s all we know, other than the fact that she’s funny and she lives here in San Francisco.

Cool photos, mostly of San Francisco, at THE TENS.

The one, the ONLY.. COFFEEEEEESISTERRRRRR…

And then there’s JASON, REED RACER, SHIRLEY and KATHERINE, all of whom we dig like CRAZY.

I found a 24-hour Starbucks here in San Francisco.

There were rumors floating around of such a place, but it took some doing to locate it. This is because there are about a hundred-jillion Starbucks outlets in this city, just like there are in any city, and I had to look at a bunch of them and check their hours.

Finally, I checked the one on California Street and there it was – “we’re open 24-hours!”

All of this checking was done mostly online of course, because I haven’t time or inclination to personally visit every Starbucks in the city, plus I probably won’t live long enough. But I did go to the one up on Powell because Edna at The Coffee Bean told me she thought that one might be the 24-hour one, but it’s not. Way to go, EDNA.

As you’d imagine, the 24-hour joint was full of laptops and assorted people of all ages, but mostly 20-somethings, sitting at those laptops pounding away on keyboards while surfing Facebook, streaming music downloads and doing their homework.

Tables were scarce, but I finally ended up sitting next to this guy at about two in the morning..

This is Julean Rai. He’s a musician, and all around cool-cat who just floated into San Francisco a few months ago on a sea of hopes and dreams.

In a boat made of inspiration.

With an anchor of hard-work tethered by a rope of determination.

Okay then.

He’s quite nautical, this guy.

We talked, and to make a long story short (you’re welcome), we hit it off. He actually seemed to like me which doesn’t happen very often, and I liked him, which I’m sure happens to him all of the time.

Plus he looked and sounded exactly – and I mean EXACTLY – like my brother-in-law, Joel.

It was kind of freaky.

Okay, so he’s a black guy and Joel isn’t, but I swear it’s like he and Joel are twins and one day Julean fell into a vat of brown sauce while working at a fish & chips shoppe.

Or maybe Joel fell into a vat of vanilla ice-cream while working at a Baskin-Robbins.

But nonetheless, there you have it, two cool-cats who’ve never met and are brothers from different colored mamas, yet they look exactly alike similar and sound almost identical when they talk.

Oh, and Joel is a musician too. He plays sax in a jazz band and Julean plays guitar and God-only-knows what else, because he seems to exude talent from his pores. It smelled kind of nice.

Now, I know that few of you — practically none of you, really — know Joel personally or even know who he is, but I’ve known him since he was about the size of a saxophone. Here’s a picture of him taken the same year I met him..

So I know what I’m talking about when I say that Julean has the same voice, inflection and speech-patterns as Joel, which is downright uncanny.

By the way, here’s Joel all growed-up and standing on a mountain..

And here he is skydiving..

Now here’s my friend Drew skydiving..

Drew wasn’t at the 24-hour Starbucks and he doesn’t look or sound a thing like Julean and Joel, but he is a musician who likes to go to Starbucks, so there. But really, I just threw in his skydiving pic because Joel has a groovy skydiving pic too and they’re very similar.

I don’t know if Julean has a skydiving pic but that would be awesome, wouldn’t it?

Okay, so let’s recap. Here are Julean and Joel, side-by-side..

Vanilla ice-cream or brown sauce, Baskin-Robbins or H. Salt Esquire.. which is it?

I’ve posted a video below of Julean talking on a TV program. When my mother-in-law sees it she’s going to freak-out and vehemently deny ANY involvement with Denzel Washington 30 years ago.

But before we get to it, I just want to close by reiterating what a cool-cat Julean is, mainly because he gave me all of his music on a memory stick and it’s good. So I need to help get his music out there in any way I can, which is pretty much just talking about it on this blog.

Here’s hoping some big-shot in the music industry reads this and  signs Julean to a lucrative record deal (do they still call it that?) and then hires Joel to play sax on every track. Or maybe starts up a new act kind of like ALY & AJ, but with a twist or two.. or seven..

Sorry I couldn’t find any pics of Aly & AJ skydiving (in their lingerie).

Okay then, onto the smokin’ hot Julean Rai videos..

CHECK OUT..

Julean Rai on YouTube

Joel’s kick-ass photo stream on Flickr

Another Christmas, another year, come and gone. Another New Year ahead. The cycle of life plods along, up the hills and down into the valleys, picking up and discharging passengers along the way. Some deserved it and some didn’t – it was all rather random, but it was the journey that counted. We sat in the back of the bus this time, but we still had a nice view.

photo by Troy Holden on Flickr

Now we’ll board the new bus and although we think we know where we’re going, these things are never certain. We hope we’re going someplace cool, but we’ll just have to trust the driver. We may run out of gas before we get anywhere but then again we might just speed right along and arrive at a shiny new bus terminal in a distant land with gold streets and happy citizens who want for nothing.

Here’s to the journey.

..and too much eggnog.

Johnny Stewart is a cool cat who happens to also be a former neighbor of Rhodester and Mrs. Rhodester, aka coffeesister.

We knew him and his lovely wife, Cherizza (rhymes with “her pizza”) when we all lived in the same southern California apartment building a few years back.

Rhodester and coffeesister have been in San Francisco for almost a year, and yesterday Johnny called up to say he’s in town, and not only that but he’s staying in a condo in the Embarcadero area (which is a really NICE area by the bay), and not only that but he wants us to come over and hang-out with him and “her pizza.”

Poor coffeesister couldn’t make it because she recently had her insides ripped out by sharp knives, so caretaker Rhodester made sure she had a nice dinner, had gone potty and had gotten her medication taken before slipping out for a few hours to reminisce with some old friends in high places.

When we say high places, we mean HIGH PLACES, as this particular two-bedroom condo is on the 15th floor overlooking downtown San Francisco and the Bay Bridge. Here is a photo Johnny posted to Facebook earlier in the day before Rhodester got there..

photo by Johnny Stewart

The question just had to be asked of Johnny.. “WHO owns this place?”

Johnny’s answer.. a hot Asian chick who he does business with, who’s let him use the condo for a couple of days while she’s out of town. He then proceeded to state the obvious by saying that she’s been “rather successful in her business.”

This comes as no surprise to Rhodester, who has yet to meet a hot Asian chick who isn’t successful. They seem to always get things right.

Johnny said that this condo ran hot Asian chick about a jillion dollars, and that her HOA fees, which is something every San Francisco homeowner has because lawns don’t just mow themselves and buildings don’t just paint themselves and trash never, EVER takes itself out, runs about a thousandy dollars a month.

Okay, we’re exaggerating. The condo was about two mil and the HOA is around $750.00, but STILL, ya know?

A year in San Francisco and Rhodester hasn’t yet gotten above the third floor in anything unless you count the Grand Hyatt when he and coffeesister went with Drew to the umpteenth floor for a nine-dollar beer in the sky lounge that time.

That aside, this was a cool experience. On to the pictures..

Rhodester and Johnny Stewart

This is Rhodester and Johnny Stewart in hot Asian chick’s bedroom. By the way, if anyone should be tempted to say that Johnny bears a resemblance to any beloved Disney icons, they’d certainly be mistaken.

Hot Asian chick’s friggen’ WALL is all window, from top to bottom and side to side, which is quite vertigo inducing. The bed is like five feet from this glass wall, so while lying in it one would get the illusion of floating above the city. Most people here achieve a similar effect by just smoking a lot of weed.

The huge blob of light to the right of Johnny is the flash reflecting in the window. It’s not a UFO, but we’re going to send it in to Coast To Coast anyway and tell them it is.

Rhodester and his Millenium Tower hat

A shot of Rhodester with The Millenium Tower growing out of his head. The Millenium Tower is the most famous, luxurious and expensive high-rise in San Francisco, and it dwarfs the building we were in. If it could walk, The Millenium Tower would have walked a few blocks over and taken a dump on us. You can barely see it in this crappy phone-cam photo but when standing in the hot Asian chick’s bedroom, you’re very aware of it’s presence. Just like you would be of the hot Asian chick. Simply majestic!

NOTE - the website for The Millenium Tower is quite entertaining. Pop some popcorn and sit down for a few hours to peruse it.

The Millenium Tower even wishes we'd use a better camera

The flash was turned off in an attempt to get a better shot of The Millenium Tower. We weren’t so successful. The living room of this condo has a balcony with a waist-high railing, where Rhodester was tempted to test the effects of gravity on beer-bottle velocity at 15 floors high but wanted to get home to coffeesister sometime later in the evening rather than the next day after bail had been posted.

After a nice evening spent in conversation, beer consumption and awesome cityscape viewing, Rhodester returned to his hotel, where coffeesister awaited. Gazing at the view of Market Street from the 2nd floor where he observed two hobos fighting over a bag of cans, he sighed wearily and then went to bed, hoping hot Asian chick appreciates what she has.