I’m totally moving to Seattle.

Seattle Nears Rainy-Day Record

I’m SO there.

Is San Francisco a 24 hour town? I wanted to find out.

Thursday night around 11pm and I’m pacing around my room. Berkeley? Maybe. I could find something to do, I think. No. No. I’m going to The City. Let’s do this right.

I packed my bag with the essentials: laptop, camera, mp3 player, cell phone. I set out straight away, driving with the windows down and doing the speed limit on 580.

It was a cold and clear night and I could see the lights from my side of the bay. As I drove I wondered what this land might have looked like 50 years ago, 100, 200. I could see campfires in the distance. I could hear herds of animals shuffling in the dark. John Bidwell, father of Chico, once said that he couldn’t travel for an hour in pre-Gold Rush California without seeing a grizzly bear; and that he saw herds of elk that stretched beyond the horizon. Today the grizzlies are gone and the elk survive in just a few scattered and small herds.

Once on the bridge I thought back to my high school years. Me and the guys used to make the trip once a month at least. Back then we were just kids. The most interesting thing for us to do was hit Fisherman’s Wharf. Kev would pick up the phone at every payphone and yell, “I told you never to call me here!” No, not tonight. Let’s see what else there is to do over here.

North Beach. That sounds interesting. I took the exit and made my way through the narrow streets. Broadway, hey I remember this place. Big Als, the Condor Club. Down a side street I looked for the Palladium and found Larry Flynt’s Hustler place. Young kids crammed the sidewalks and music thumped out of each of the nightclubs.

I pulled over and let the car idle. Out of my bag I grabbed my laptop and flipped up the screen. My wifi app started to blink–24 access points found. 24? Holy crap! I logged in to the best G connection I could find and started searching the web for things to do.

Thanks to www.yelp.com I quickly found a listing of pubs in North Beach. It was just after midnight–I only had 90 minutes to explore.

4 pubs later I found myself wanting a slice of pizza, so I whipped out the laptop again. This time I found 33 access points. Damn, this place is hot. A slice of cheese later I’m on the road again, looking for something to do.

I remember the Haight back in 1990. My girlfriend at the time was a wannabe hippy, and we spent weekends here. I pulled up a map and drove across the city.

San Francisco is a lot smaller than I remember. Maybe it’s because I was always lost. Tonight, however, I had my laptop and a plethora of wifi hotspots. I could pull the Ranger over and get directions in minutes.

Wow. The Haight sure has changed. Can you guess what’s on THE corner of Haight and Ashbury? Can you? Give up? A fucking Gap. A fucking Gap clothing store, right there on the southeastern spot of this legendary corner. I don’t know how it made me feel. I could hear corporate America mocking me. I didn’t feel like exploring the Haight anymore.

Now I feel like a cup of coffee. Out came the laptop again, and I found no less than 20 wifi AP’s. A quick search later on yelp and I found a 24 hour cafe nearby. I went inside and ordered a latte and a blueberry muffin. I sat in the corner and watched the people come in and out of the door.

Happy couples, unhappy couples, college kids, bums, and night owls like myself. Who were these people? Do they live here in San Francisco? Or, like me, are they outsiders? A goth girl with a T-shirt that read, “I read your e-mail” asked me if she could sit at my table. She started asking me questions about computers, feeling me out, seeing what I knew. 20 minutes later I realized this hacker-goth-girl was the real thing. She knew more than I did. I felt intimidated. She smelled my fear. She laughed at one of my well-thought-out answers and left. I sat in awe as I watched her walk out the door.

By this time it was 4am. I’d had enough of The City, so I packed up and drove home.

There’s this little Japanese restaurant in downtown Hayward called Wakamatsu. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. I was thinking today that I’d lived in Hayward for most of my life, and yet I’ve never been to that restaurant. So tonight I went.

Most people think that Japanese food = sushi. No. No! Wrong! There is so much more! I lived in Japan for eight months when I was in the Navy (and I loved it! see past blogs), and I fell in love with the fantastic food. Miso and edamame and sanma and katsu don and mmm mmm mmm! I’m getting hungry again just writing about it!

So I’ve had this craving for good ol’ mom and pop Japanese food lately. I’ve been searching www.yelp.com for reviews of Japanese restaurants in the Bay, but most of them are in San Francisco. However I found a half dozen places in Hayward, and for the last week I’ve been researching and scoping them out.

Most of these restaurants pretty much specialize in sushi, because that’s what dumbass Americans want to eat (for the record, I much prefer sashimi over sushi). But Wakamatsu was different. Holy shit! There are actual Japanese people working here! In fact, my server’s English was borderline–so I used my absolutely terrible Japanese to make sure she knew what I wanted.

I had pickled seaweed with miso soup and a big ol’ Kirin Ichiban to start. Soon my plate of gyoza arrived, and finally my katsu don. It was heavenly. I haven’t had food this good in sooo many years, and definitely not since I left SoCal (Ebisu, oh how I miss you). Dammit! Why hadn’t I tried this place earlier? As I sat eating my dinner I couldn’t help thinking, “All these wasted years!”

I’ll be back…