I'm surrounded by family and friends. Work is challenging and rewarding. I'm settling in to my middle-age decline with grace. Things could be so much worse, in every possible way. Were I a religious man, I'd ascribe this state to a higher power. Being that I'm not, I'll ascribe it to hard work, the randomness of being born to parents who could start me off in a good direction, and the intelligence not to fuck all of that up too badly.

Flashback to 1985. I'm in a nightclub in St. Louis with several classmates and our favorite teacher, Professor Paul Arney. It was 2:00 a.m. Professor Arney was in his early Seventies. But they were a hard seventy years. He looked weather-beaten. But he was dancing every dance. Matching us drink for drink. I foolishly asked how he had the energy. He replied, "When you're dead -- you're dead for a long time."

He's dead. Been dead for a long time.

In that spirit, I had an excellent weekend deferring death.

My friend Eric came out to Chicago for the Lollapalooza show last year. This weekend was my reciprocal trip to San Francisco, ostensibly to take in the Noise Pop festival. More on that in a moment.

I met Eric through work. Client/vendor kind of deal. It rarely happens this way, but we clicked as friends, too. He's since left the industry to open a printmaking and fine art studio with his wife, Annie. Eric's on the print-making and painting end of things. And Annie, among other subjects, paints portaits of luchadore wrestlers. Eric and Annie both blog. And though this was my first time meeting Annie face-to-face, I felt like I knew her for years. But she seems to have that effect on everyone. She's quite the sweetie. Their Studio is clearly a labor of love. And I'm extremely confident in their artistic and commercial success.

After touring the Studio, Eric and I started our evening. We managed to see performances by seven bands in two days. The first night was at the Swedish American Hall. Highlights were Alela Diane and Zach Rogue. Delicate, beautiful music from both, to a quiet, but enthusiastic crowd. Damned good sandwiches, too. We were a bit bored by one of the other acts, and took down Market Street in search of a bar. I'd never heard the term "glass coffin" before. But that described the Twin Peaks to a tee.

Saturday was spent outdoors. Sunny, gentle breezes and 70 degree weather. Brunch at Eric's. A walk through Golden Gate Park. Several hours spent with his friends at the Zeitgeist in the Mission. (mandatory out-of-context conversation excerpt: "Which end of the melon do you fuck?" "The end that smells." And the surliest damned wait staff I've had in years. an online review echoed my sentiments.

Went here once with a couple of buddies and had a great time...chilled, smoked and waitin for days for some burgers, by them time we got them anything would have tasted good. Went back recently and the cook was a real pansy (think soup Nazi on seinfeld). Someone should tell the burger boy that wearin a beanie while cooking over a hot grill will make any gig hell. Total Hit or Miss. I'm not eating there again and don't recommend that you do.

But the beer was tasty. And Eric's friends were a blast. After another outdoor dinner, we were off to another club for more music. The Changes. Dios Malos. And the Spinto Band.

Dios Malos used to go by the name Dios. But they had to change their name when they were sued by Ronnie James Dio. I crap you negative.

Sunday morning, on the way out to the airport, we drove out to Oakland, for lunch at Eric and Annie's friends' new restaurant. A Bloody Mary. Cole Slaw with hints of both lime and mint. And far, far better food than anything I could've bought in the airport.

Time spent with my family is wonderful. But it's constant. It's a charge to get out of the routine, staying out late, meeting new people.

A good way to keep living.

Labels: fornication, luchadores, melons

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