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San Fransisco-Part 1
After a quick visit with my friends in Montera, I headed through Pacifica and into San Francisco.There was a think fog in over the city as I drove in.The skyline in San Francisco is truly magnificent.The skyscrapers seem to have a hold on the entire horizon.
I arrived at my friend Kevin's house later that night.He was the nephew my old next door neighbor. We had met a few times before but never really got to know each other till this trip.
Pressed the door bell and Kev lifted the brass latch.I stepped through the front door and found myself in a punk rockers oasis.There were Ramones records, and Black Flag posters slung from the walls.Next to there TV were towers of VHS tapes made up of mostly live concerts and skateboard videos.There may have been a Ninja Turtles tape wedged in there somewhere, but you didn't hear that from me.
After settling in, Kevin offered to take me to see a punk concert in the Mission.He let me borrow his bike and we took off into the moist night air.We made our way across the city on a 40-minute ride through the cool night air.Rode through Golden Gate Park and through the crowded streets of San Francisco to a club in the middle of the Mission.We got there grabbed a quick burrito next door and made our way inside.
The club reeked of punk and stale beer.People with tattoos and piercing from head to toe mingled and drank, as the bands got ready.The first band started and began insulting the audience.I think the bass player called us all worms.Then he cranked up the amp to 11 and began ripping into power chords as the drummer bashed his symbols and stomped his kick drum violently.A short bald guy then began screaming incoherent aggression into a mic as people in the audience thrashed around violently into each other and the walls.I got slammed from the side and spilled my Newcastle onto someone's flannel shirt next to me.She didn't seem to mind though and kept on bashing as if nothing had happened.The song was over in about a minute but my ears were already ringing.The crowed thinned out and then filled up for their next 1-minute number. To save my ears and my beers, I stood in the back doing my best to peer through the sea of tattooed bodies.
We took the bus back to Kev's house and brought a few Italians that were also staying at the house. Their names were Pamela and Lorenzo and could possibly be the kindest most tattooed people I have ever met.
Kevin's place I soon learned is really a glorified hostile that you don't have to pay for.There were people from Australia, Canada, Boston, and Italy all within 1 or 2 weeks time.
Unfortunately, the bike ride in the cold left me sick.I spent the next day in bed reading the newspaper and watching the first season of Curb Your Enthusiasm.
It took about 24 hours but I finally, with the help of the Italians and their vitamin C tablets, I felt a bit better.That morning, we all went into the city.Our first stop was Amoeba records.This place was by far the biggest music store I had ever seen.Records and CDs from every genre stretched across your periphery.I let my eyes drift out of focus and the whole place looked like a blur of lights and shiny plastic labels.This was a musician's paradise.Lorenzo could not help himself and almost sold his plane ticket back to Italy in there for punk records that were rare in Italy.I think he walked out with almost 20 records (that was only the first time he went too.He made several trips.It became an on running joke.)I myself had some difficulty leaving a live Ray Charles DVD at the store.I stood there helpless, caressing the smooth package in the front corner of the store.I did break down and pick up a Stevie Wonder record by the time we got Lorenzo out of there.
We got in my car and drove a short distance and found a place to park.Kevin's friend who I found out later is a local punk hero around San Francisco, with was making us lunch at the Maximum Rock and Roll Magazine headquarters.This is a famous independent punk magazine in the Bay Area.
Our group squeezed through a narrow metal cage door and into an oily garage.We walked past crates filled with miscellaneous tools and old magazines..Then by a few broken down motor cycles to a door at the far end.We opened it and were cast into punk heaven.Light shone through the skylight onto thousands and thousands of records edged in green tape.Kevin told us that just about every notable punk record makes a home here.The green tape was to make them less valuable to deter theft.
Martine was already in the kitchen when we arrived preparing lunch.He served us authentic quesadillas with sour cream and guacamole.He also had made fresh homemade salsa and nachos.I have to admit that California really is a great place to get Mexican food.
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