Home again

Back to the East Coast. It's cold.

You have reached your destination!

So says TomTom, or "The Bitch," as we named her.
We got into lovely San Francisco last night ... CG just walked out of the bathroom beardless. Sad.
So yes. In Cayucos we went to a bar called, I think, the Saloon. Eighties-rock cover band, all members with long flowing hair. Mullets abounded, as did mustaches, and all were dancing. Lesbians, bikers, and almost everyone trapped in decades past. But all seeming to genuinely have fun, no pretention (how could there be?), none of those blank stares, those We-should-be-having-fun looks you see in schmancy Boston bars.
And in the morning up the coast, up Route 1 between cliffs and sea. I've written this before, I'm sure, but it's something to take on the whole continent on wheels and then drive along its very edge. It's a good thing we holed up for the night. The storm knocked loose mud and dirt and rocks into the road, and some of the slides were being cleared by bulldozers and plows as we drove, and others just marked by dirty traffic cones. We ate in Carmel, at a Black Bear Diner, which had a menu so perversely filled with puns ("Breakfast, for the bearly awake," and "Coffee's bruin," and the like) that I wrote on the comment card, "There were more puns than I thought paws-ible." Har har.
And then into San Francisco, to CG's brother's place on Russian Hill. We went out for beers in North Beach, and to Tommaso's for pizza (OH MY GOD) and wine, and back here for the night. Now it's about 11:30 and we'll be taking off soon, CG to check out his new office and me to explore the city, and hopefully meeting up with our friend Aaron, since he has an air mattress with my name on it.
Wednesday morning I fly home, in time for the beloved Boru's two-dollar-beer night. I'm making plans in my head; something that involves packing up the Malibu, again, and moving to Santa Barbara or somewhere similar, job or no.

From the Eye of the Storm

... or Cayucos, California. We're staying at a beachside motel for the night to let a big storm pass before driving up Route 1 to San Francisco. We have a little balcony overlooking the water and what should be a grand display of nature. 

Updates ... 

Vegas was a fabulously great time. CG managed to get us a room at the shiny golden Mandalay Bay, complete with passes to the spa. After soaking in hot tubs and watching the debate we got fancy, and went out. Much eating, drinking and gambling (more on CG's part than mine) ensued. I lost a little money when I became so enamored with a giant slot machine that I dumped $10 into it. I now have a big gold $1 coin only good at Mandalay Bay. So that was a good deal.

After some damn good (and much needed) eggs benedict we drove to Santa Barbara, avoiding all Friday afternoon LA traffic thanks to my navigation and CG's driving skills. We met Uncle Dave and Mel for sushi. Delicious. This is the second time that my first meal upon arriving on the coast has been sushi, and I think it will become tradition. 

Then we went back to their house and drank lots of red wine and talked politics. Today we all went out to lunch at a fabulous place called Freebirds in Isla Vista, where UCSB is. Made me wish I had gone to college out there. Then we went wine tasting at Roblar Winery. CG got along splendidly with the whole fam, and should be going down to visit soon. 

And now here we are in Cayucos. I'm feeling a little gross, probably from being hungover from wine this morning and promptly going wine-tasting. Smart. 

My mother sent me a picture of all the snow up in Connecticut, so I'm glad I'm not there. Even though 50 degrees in southern California is freezing, if you listen to anyone who lives here. Spoiled bastards. I sent her back a picture of my uncle and I, wine glasses in hand. 

I'm thinking I might extend my trip and pop into Portland, Oregon, before heading home. Why not, right?

YEAH

Vegas tonight! So excited!

From the Kings Inn in Kingman:

So ... the last time I wrote was ... Oklahoma?

Well. Now I’m in Arizona. Beautiful Kingman, Arizona. Looks like it sprung up at the turn-off for Vegas from I-40 and eventually spawned a Wal-Mart Supercenter. On the TV there’s an episode of the Simpsons (the one where Homer and Mr. Burns are trapped in an avalanche), which I’m finding particularly hilarious. Like I found Cracker Barrel’s chicken and dumplings particularly delicious. 

Yum. 

Last night we stayed in Santa Fe. Luckily, even with skiers, February is definitely part of the city’s slow season. We got to stay at the Inn of the Governors, a fancy place with fireplaces and a heated outdoor pool. 

That was super. I’ve never floated in a pool and looked up at the stars in February. I could see Orion, and you know ... he’s my dog. 

Dawg?

We went out and got margaritas and green chile chicken enchiladas. Yeah. There was no one around, and it was cold, so it wasn’t a Santa Fe I’d seen before. Touristy area in winter. Go figure. 

And in the morning ... oh man ... my favorite meal of all time, huevos divorciados at the Plaza diner. As good as I remember, although I think they have new, non-Greek owners. And no sopapilla after. So that’s a big thumbs-down. But delicious, as always. 

We got our first (and only, dammit!) (knock on wood) winter driving today. In Arizona. Apparently it snows in the mountains, and maybe we shouldn’t have poo-pooed the giant signs that warned about winter road conditions. Whoops. 

But we made it here. We’re only a couple hours from Vegas, which is really exciting because we haven’t driven less than 8 hours since going from New York to Virginia. That was ... Sunday. Tomorrow we should get there about check-in time (Mandalay Bay, how swank) and start drinking. Presumably there’ll be a pool and general fabulousness involved. 

This may just be the kick in the ass I need. 

From the center of Hell

Also known as Midwest City, Oklahoma, a Chili's surrounded by several hotels and a Wal-Mart Supercenter just outside Oklahoma City. It took us about 10 hours to get here from Nashville, and the 45 minutes we had to drive around looking for food was the longest part of the fucking day. So now I'm full (thank God for Waffle House), but still really tired and dirty.  And cranky, obviously. 

Spent last night in Nashville. We went to the Station Inn, this really cool bar that hosts a bluegrass jam Sunday nights. No cover, cheap beer, some pizza that I'm pretty sure was DiGiorno, and between 15 and 20 people playing every sort of stringed instrument out there. I fell in love with a girl playing the guitar. And also the waiter/cook, who was wearing denim overalls. So I love Nashville for getting me drunk and providing such a fabulous, fiddle-filled place to hang out. 

And here we are outside Oklahoma City, because it's halfway to Santa Fe. Arkansas and Oklahoma are two new states to add to my list ... even though I didn't see much of them, aside from gas stations and Christian signs. To wit: 

"You call it ABORTION. GOD calls it MURDER." and 

"'Does anybody really care?' 'I do ... Jesus!'"

Night, all. Next stops are, tentatively, Santa Fe, Vegas, Santa Barbara and San Francisco. 

From the Red Roof Inn in Charlottesville, Va.:

(This was written last night in the town where UVA is. I'm in Nashville now.) 

The hotel room is throbbing. I can’t tell what the constant mechanical thrumming is, but it seems to come from the very walls. The heartbeat of the hotel, if the hotel were being attacked by wolves. Or thought it was in the midst of a wolf attack, after taking an overambitious dose of acid. 

I figure two things will happen before I fall asleep. I’ll get used to the noise, like a bad smell, or I’ll go to the corner store for a big bottle of Nyquil. 

God. It couldn’t be worse unless I was feeling guilty about murdering someone and hiding their dismembered parts in the walls. Didn’t Edgar Allen Poe go to the University of Virginia? How fitting. 

CG dropped me off this afternoon before heading to his grandparents’ house in the hinterlands. I’m not there because, one, I don’t like old people and, two, they wouldn’t like their grandson cavorting about the country with a common hussy. Fair enough.

It just occurred to me that I’m eight hours from home, without a car, and my ride doesn’t have cell service out there in the mountains. 

Anyway. Last night we were in Manhattan. The Doubletree upgraded us to a junior suite, an 18th-floor room with a concrete balcony and little signs explaining everything. The sheets and duvet have been laundered. The tub is anti-slip, but if you’d like a bathmat, call housekeeping at x803. You may pick up anything from the minibar for 20 seconds before it is automatically charged to your room. 

Nice, though. We went to an Irish pub, a restaurant with live jazz, a gay (as in rainbows, not lame) piano bar and a new wave dance party. 

This morning we got on the road early, after CG learned what I’m like in between being woken up and eating. It’s unpleasant or something ...  

Nashville tomorrow night. Last time I was there, I was too tired to go out and in the morning was greatly disappointed by the status of the Grand Ole Opry, which was facing an Old Navy and Bed, Bath and Beyond. Although I hear that’s not the real one, which is relieving. But hopefully there’ll be a Cracker Barrel involved again. Can’t get enough of that. 

With any luck, my stomach will settle, I won’t hear the throbbing, the people in the next room will finally go out and I can fall asleep.