Shitache Hotel

This morning started of as a real lazy susan.
Slept in til' 10 something, which hasn't happened yet this trip.
We've been early to bed, early to rise everyday, and its been feeling pretty good so far.
You get a lot done when there's more than 8 hours in your day.

And I have been doing surprisingly well without the weed too.
I miss it a little less every day.
I guess sometimes you need to detox..........(Ben, finish this one up for me would'ya)
I aint never gonna quit though, but maybe I'll save myself a few bucks a month if I cut er down a little.

We made a real day out of 'er today though.
I started it off pretty rad.
We were on our way through the bullshit tourist strip down at Powell and Market, to the BART station, where it's just swarms of fat Americans walking with their eyes NOT on the prize, and brains full of the desire to vacation to San Fran, only to hang out in a 2 block radius, and shop at the same fucking stores they can go to back home.
We've all walked through the same sea of stupid.
It's a frustrating game of stop and go, jerk and dash, "ghahhh" and "FUCK!!!"
So when some unsuspecting dipshit with her head turn 45 degrees away from the direction she was walking got a serious face full of my left shoulder, I was all but apologetic.
I actually felt good about it, even though it was more of her own doing than mine.
I would never mean for it to happen, but there is something so rare and special about shoulder blocking a woman square in the jaw.
There was an even rarer moment of silence, when she looked at me, in total shock, without any words, and I wasn't sure if I should apologize, or injure her even more with my belittling stare.
I chose the belittling stare. The kind that says "you fat American dunce, your face is on the front of your body for a reason, so that you may see the dangers than lie ahead of you, you don't have whiskers like a cat, to alert you of things off the side of your face, if your face and my shoulder should ever meet again, I'll gladly introduce you to a verbal thrashing, and maybe a shove!"
I think she got the point, as no words were exchanged, and I carried on with my business.

The business I was trying to tend to was getting Annie and I down to the Mission for some lunch.
We made plans to check out a place called the Pork Store Cafe.
What an awesome name by the way. What an awesome restaurant too.
There was like 30 different lamps, all hanging from the ceiling in no particular order at all, and a nice bottle of Maple Syrup on the table.
Nothing makes me more comfortable than MAPLE SYRUP.
It deserves to be spelled with capital letters. It is the lifeblood of any true Canadian.
An ounce a day keeps the lonesomeness away.

Now, I will say that for a place called Pork Store, there was a disproportionate amount of non pork items on the menu.
But maybe thats OK, because the pulled pork sandwich I ordered was a 10 outta 10.
I highly suggest anybody who knows the real truth about pork, go visit this place.

Pork is your friend.
Its the cleanest animal on the farm.
It's the cutest.
It requires the lowest cooking temperature of meats.
It's the tastiest.
It's the most tender.
And I like that it is a formidable opponent to a human, when it comes to "eat or be eaten".
A pig will eat you given the opportunity, and I respect that kind of challenge to my authority. At that point, it becomes "game", like a bear, or a mountain lion.
It's kill or be killed, and if I was going to be killed by a cow, or a chicken, I would be pretty fucking bummed out.
Hats off to the pig.

Then we walked our sluggish bellies along 16th street, to a store called Needles and Pens, where Annie bought a shirt with a sketch of some funny shoes on it, and I bought another book.
I bought the book You Can't Win, by Jack Black, of post civil war times, not School of Rock times.
It was right beside the Charles Bukowski book I tried to read in Barcelona, except I spent too much time smoking hash to be of mindfulness to actually READ it.
Which reminds me, Ben, do you have that book, I wouldn't mind giving it another go.

Anyways, I bought the book, because it sounded like a good read, and I like the title.

A good title is important.
They say you can't judge a book by its cover, but I think you can judge it by the title, which happens to appear on the cover, so I call bullshit on that statement.

Then we went to Ritual again, because I wanna have as much mind blowing espresso as I can, before returning to Toronto, where it happens only as often as I go to Mercury, or Matthews apartment.

I really don't want to think of what is going to happen when I come home, and every espresso that I make will only fail in comparison to what I have had at Ritual.

Even more saddening was when asked by the Barista what machine I work on, and I replied sheepishly "uhhhh, Elektra", he said "hrmm, never heard of it"
That sucked.

What wont suck however, is the day trip we are gonna make to Berkeley tomorrow!
Goodie!!
We booked a tour of the Scharffenberger chocolate factory, we're gonna go to the Buffalo Exchange, which everybody whos been to one knows, is the greatest thrift store on Earth, and then we're gonna do some hippie watching at the University, and hopefully smoke weed with some freedom fighters!!

Oh yah, and this hotel actually does suck.
I killed a cockroach on our TV stand this evening.

Bye!