Here’s a belated recap of Buddypalooza:
Friday
After sleeping far too little on Thursday night, getting to work early on Friday, and eating far too much at an all-you-can-eat sushi bar in Glendale (Todai, not bad for $13), I escaped the clutches of the corporate world at 3:30 and started the 375 mile slog to the Bay Area. Fine Irish music and an ongoing news story about a beached whale carcass in Half Moon Bay were entertainment enough to keep me from losing my mind. Upon arrival the triad headed off to Pyramid’s for pizza, oddly-shaped calamari, and a few pitchers of apricot ale (aka the happy beer). That was followed by a trip to dirty Dan’s, highlighted by Paul Will’s philosophising about the advantages of small women, and the Goob’s conversation with a girl in line outside:
Her: “So is there a band inside?” (music is blaring)
Aaron: “No. Actually, it’s usually dead silent in there. But, you know, that’s cool, ’cause they have books you can borrow and stuff. And sometimes on Tuesdays they do Shakespeare readings.”
Saturday
The day of unending fun. Both Chi and Aaron took it upon themselves to call me relatively early in the day, thus ensuring I wouldn’t catch up on sleep. Chi and I headed to Chow’s for lunch, feasting on the delightful cuisine and enjoying the aesthetically pleasing restaurant staff. A quick trip to the happiness store to visit the dog, fish, and action figures was followed by a commandment from God to purchase and consume McDonald’s sundays. That finished with, we grabbed tri-tip sandwiches and lotto scratchers and headed home to meet Aaron. Following a Scrabble debacle (“ja”, I won) we caught a matinee showing of the 40 Year Old Virgin, then met the tall guy at Mudville for mini-basketball and more food. The options thereafter were a party full of girls getting ready to head back to college or else Scrabble and Karate Kid 2. Miyagi and Sato were not to be denied.
Sunday
The plan for Sunday was to meet everyone at Sam Wo’s for lunch and then enjoy a leisurely drive back to LA. I should have known better. Wo’s was followed by a trip to the Nish Bar in Berkeley, where conversation ranged from a missing belt loop to a dog named Chicken to the member of the gourd family most suited to be crammed into an orifice. Surprisingly we weren’t kicked out. The stroll through Berkeley that followed led us to Jaime Hill, where Jaime demonstrated the proper technique for executing a drunken forward roll downhill, across a sidewalk, and into traffic. When finally I got on the road the sun was sinking, but news of the impending hurricane kept me awake for the drive home.