On Wednesday Meredith and I ran errands. When she moved from Little Rock back to California in July, she left behind a few things, paintings mostly, that wouldn’t fit comfortably in her U-Haul truck, so I brought them to her. After dropping all that off at her new place (she moves in on Sunday), we mostly wandered aimlessly. Having seen LA a few times I was kind of at a loss for what to do. We walked up the Sunset Strip for a bit, had a beer at the Rainbow Bar & Grill, and dinner at an Irish pub in Santa Monica before heading back to the downtown loft apartment she’s been sharing with her friend and co-worker at Tiffany’s, Tracy.
Thursday I went to guitar stores and Amoeba Records. I met up with my cousin David at the Apple Store in the Westfield mall in Century City. He hooked me up with a 160 gig iPod at a fine discount. Yes, my first iPod. I’m finally joining the revolution. After that we had dinner at a nice little Italian place in Culver City run by South Americans.
Friday I went to the LACMA’s big Dali exhibit, which was amazing. I was surprised how small “Persistence of Memory” is in real life. After that I went back to the Apple store for a car adapter. David and I hung out at his place a bit and grabbed a snack at Baja Fresh. After that I met up with Meredith for the best-kept secret in bargain dining in Beverly Hills: the $2 Happy Hour menu at at McCormick and Schmick’s. Between 6 and 8 you can get a variety of items super-cheap, including a big burger and fries for just $1.97. This is at the corner of Rodeo Drive and Wilshire Boulevard, mind you, in the same shopping plaza as Tiffany’s.
Saturday I had lunch with Mary and Nikki in Sherman Oaks. After that I set out on the 101 for San Francisco. This 7-hour drive went considerably faster than the previous miles, or at least seemed to, thanks to the iPod and its shuffle feature, which essentially gave me my own radio station.
Arriving in San Francisco’s rough-and-tumble Tenderloin district, I was forced by necessity to perform the same procedure that staying in downtown Dallas required of me: cleaning out my car in its entirety, in anticipation of homeless and/or crackheads looking for anything worth breaking a window to get. My first lesson in big city living. Erika and I grabbed some dinner at a deliciously spartan Pakistani joint and found a hospitable dive bar at which to drink.
what’s up with all the irish bars? but then, i guess, there are no scottish bars..