Chef Jerm gets me to the airport and I snag the usual Tuscan breakee on my way to my 9:30am flight. I'm on my way to San Jose.
The flight if uneventful except when they land and deplane out both the front and rear at the same time. And I'm in the last row which is now the first to get off out the stern.
New turf. I start looking for a bus to Los Gatos (LAZ GAT-IS in NoCal English), which is Spanish for I Can't Find My Cat they tell me. Guess what? No bus. A taxi and a shuttle are about the same price so I jump one of those too long vans with more rows that The Orpheum. Raj is my driver. Never met a Raj before. LG is a fairly short 15 minute ride away and I get to the Los Gatos Lodge, the place from which I will rule the Californias from until Sunday. Bow. Down.
Mmmmmm, cute Mexican girls working behind the desk. Yes, I will enjoy my stay, I have ESP, thanks.
Typical room, nothing special. There is a high school practice field out the back window. Go back to the lobby to use the house computer and check my Hotmail and female employees again. Then it is time to explore.
Just as the Google Earth images I studied like a spy before departing Rock, AK I had to cross a major highway on an overpass. The sidewalk is only on one side and the cars come off the ramps like TRON. Making the eleven feet across is even a challenge when every Beamer and Benzo comes like an F/18 Raptor. I make a sober note in my drunk notes for later to take a flashlight every night I go out for this very real danger when stumbling home.
When I reach the main strip, University, I'm not sure whether go left or right. I choose wrong. First I swing in Safeway for a swig of Snapple and some travel sized toothpaste. Across the street is a Walgreens. Wow, this town is so cool. I never found the Snapple I wanted so I take a different route and start what would be come a daily habit of buying Odwalla drinks in an effort to finish off this TB that is slowing me down. I also get one of those really really really bright LED flashlights I've always wanted. Now it qualifies as a need when the sun goes down.
I stumble upon some weird public kitchen thing where people come in a make their own dinner or whatever. Another typical Cali f-tard fad business like oxygen bars and so on. Then I come across the indoor/outdoor bocce ball club. Really. No self respecting lawn bowler such as myself should even step foot in such a facility. But they had a bar.
After an hour I end back at the corner I decided to make a right at wondering what was so special about this place. Still energized by the unknown I continue straight ahead (or what would have been left). Now i get it. Restaurants, shops, hotties....THIS is Los Gatos. I'm shocked to find a Lamborghini dealership right there in the middle of it all. And the only homeless guy in town is looking for plastic and aluminum in the trash can right out in front. I get that Viet-vibe. But I feel like the poorest soul in sight when the guy inside asks if he can help me.
"No, I'm a little out of my league here today, " I reply, looking at six cars that go for about 200K each. No hybrids.
I walk into a clothing store and ask the girl there who is nothing short of a 9.75 where the dive bar is and she says its really close. I didn't think one would exist in this Silicone Valley paradise but as soon as I walked in the door of the Black Watch I thought I took some Stargate into a bar in Georgetown, Ballard, or even home. It was love at first sight and in Governator fashion declare I'll be back. That was corny, my bad.
There is so much money in the air in this Wasilla sized town. Rent must be insane. I decide to check in with Boss Woman at The-Job-I-Can't-Talk-About from a nice little green space near the end of the street and recap what I've just seen in the last few moments. Oddly, I miss my clients.
Not so strange there is an Apple store near by. I think their HQ is less than 10 miles norte of here. They have some new computer speakers by Bose but they go for $400. JC and a side of rice, four hundy for computer speakers?
I end up at a falafel shop and treat myself to one as a snack. There is a Bentley dealer across the street. Where am I? Is this place for real?
After taking the looooong way home I take some chill time in my room. The walls are thin as the rowdy bastards in the next room are F-this F-that and I can just about understand 80% of everything else they are saying.
And what is that sound? Band practice from the high school. My Gawd, SHUT UP!
Tummy need food. Rested, I remake the ten minute hike towards town and the first place that looks affordable and tasty is Double D's. Chicken strips, not chick strippers, sorry to disappoint. I decide I can do better and walk the whole area again in search of the right meal but end up back at the sports bar named after some honkin' titties.
The bar is packed with San Jose Sharks fans to watch them take on St. Louis. This town is weird already and now they have die-hard hockey fans here in the Bay Area Beverly Hills. I'm impressed. I remember the Sharks came to life when I was at Humboldt and it was a big deal so I'm glad to see they made an impact.
I opt of the Mountain Burger, yer basic hamburger with a couple slices of pastrami on it. I bet they ripped it off from Carl's Jr. but so what, I love it like a Lancaster (former Sea Gal and Henry's sandwich).
Can you kick it? No I can't. My sickness is winning, stiff arming two Odwallas and a bag of cough drops so I end up going back to the Lodge. Done by 10:30pm. Sad. Very sad.
Friday, November 7th, 2008
When I awake I make my way to the bar where they have a weak arse Continental breakfast that I attack as if it had all my stolen autographed crap in a Las Vegas hotel room. I mistake the grits for oatmeal. Not a good start.
I seek a bus that goes to Saratoga, the town 3.5 miles away where the wedding is going to be the next day but I'm more likely to find a pawn shop or bottle of OE first around here. I'm here because Hartford Howie is getting married and he's the most hardcore traveler I know. What would he do?
Hitchhike. Thumbs up to that idea but after a mile it dawns on my these millionaires aren't letting a stranger in their Lexus anytime this century. I end up walking all 3.5 miles in heat I haven't felt all 08, perhaps in even two years. Its in the mid 80's. F-word. me.
Saratoga is the lamest place I think I've ever been. I just walked an hour and ten minutes for absolutely nada. Not one single bar. How is this even inhabitable? I would rather be in Naknek...RIGHT NOW.
I get a turkey sandwich and an Odwalla at a place called the Blue Stone and weigh my two options. Take a $15 cab or walk back. Damnit. I'm not giving the SuperDave of Saratoga the satisfaction. I walk back.
The heat is having a positive effect on my cold symptoms but the seven miles of hoofing it is tiring. I go back to the hotel angry and slightly defeated. But there is hope.
The sun disappears at a respectable time and I get back in gear with Black Watch on the brain. I'm supposed to find the Los Gatos Brewery for a pre-wedding dinner for guests who can make it. When I get there I don't recognize a single human, male or female. No groom mother, no groom brother, no college buds, nobody. Hell, I'm not even sure I'm in the right place now, ten minutes after I was told to be here. So guess what's right across the street.
I take a stool on the far end of the Black Watch bar and order a shot of Crown. The party starts now, no matter where everyone else is. The old guy a few empty seats down tells me I should try Jameson as if I'd never heard of it. He then goes into this conservative tirade starting from his days in the Navy to his disbelief McCain lost to the coming civil war in 'Merica. Heavy, but not deep. He buys me a shot of Jameson and I soon decide I better find that dinner party.
As soon as I walk outside there is Hartford Howie standing right there looking for his mom. I help join the search using my expert knowledge of the street and she turns up a few minutes later from her ATM hunt.
Howie seats me at a table with a large number of people who look like they've had one or two already so they ain't playing from behind. His brother Spielberg and family sit to my left and the dude right across from me, Alf, is from Juneau. Peeps in place I now have a comfort zone. Alf is a river guide slash lawyer slash cool motherf-worder. Easily the smartest guy in the room.
I try the house Oktoberfest. Not bad. Din din consists of chicken, salad, some cake with a fancy name, really good. Chef Jerm would give it a passing grade. More Oktoberfest. More Oktoberfest. After quite a while the dinner crowd starts to disperse and some of us move closer to the bar where there are other wedding attendees we were unaware of. More Oktoberfest. Nice local chick action at the bar. When the second wave starts to crash Alf and I tell the strong to take it to Lil Alaska with the Scottish coat of arms logo across the street.
Black Watch is absolutely packed and I'm shocked. Its like an oasis for real party peoples and no bitter naval vets in sight, just skirts and tight jeans. We claim a table in the back room where the darts are and some of the bride's yummy friends come by. I finally get a few minutes with Howie and actually met his woman who is as awesome as he described. She's easily the smartest human female in the room.
There is a really tall dude with some quality booty and I share my Tall Guy Theory which is the best ice breaker I've ever come up aside from eating a dog biscuit or pulling my sweats down. But even the strong can't survive leaving a drunk Alf and a drunk Nick who decide to check out Double D's.
It must be late because you can more folks are leaving that coming in. Sierra Nevada is in order but its last call and time to call it a night.
Alf is staying at the same hotel so I have someone to ID my body if I get smacked by a Jaguar doing 45. When we get back we figure we better see if the hotel bar is still operating. No way. A wedding party, 20something girls on their lips all over the place, a band....but nothing happened.
Damnit.
Saturday, November 8th, 2008
De
layed
hang
over.
I have a Raisin Bran breakfast and wish my head hurt half as much. It takes a couple hours to feel human again and once I do I want more food. At this point I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to survive the wedding and boozing that goes hand in hand. I'm a Kodiak boy, I'll be fine.
After another strip walk I choice Pedro's Cafe for lunch. The hostess goes directly to my Swiss spank bank account reserved for only the biggest deposits. I'm seated by the window so I can car watch and actually see lots of people from the pre-wedding dinner, including Howie's half bro Ear Ache. They give me a basket of chips and perfect pico. They not only have a guy who goes around refilling the basket but they also have a salsa refiller too. This totally rocks, a designated dipper! My seafood enchiladas are on the rich side but were worth every penny. One of the best meals of my entire two weeks.
I figure I'll need a nap but go back to Black Watch to buy a bar shirt (and I'm wearing it right now as I type this old news out). Once back I lay down with VH-1 on to clear my mind and enjoy the halfway mark of my time off from Island of Kodiak.
I met Alf at the hotel bar for a ride to the wedding site as he's jacked the groom's rental car to transport those needing a ride. Just me. He wants to pick up some whiskey from recreational purposes so he make a pitstop at a Rite Aid where all the bottles have a locking device on top. Hilarity. Can't believe they don't have that in Alaska.
Taking a motor vehicle to Saratoga is much faster than walking. We make a quick pass of the town so I could flip it off one last time, then we made our way up to the hill to the amphitheater where the festivities were to be.
Deer. There were deer on the lawn. I hope they didn't pay for that for effect. Some swans carved from ice or a real live brown bear would have been more memorable but deer aren't bad.
Once again I really don't know anyone there but I suspect....what should I call him? His code name isn't coming to me so for now I'll refer to him as The Inmate (eldest son of The Warden). And I find him looking very thin, maybe dare I say too thin. Insert Tom Hanks in Philadelphia joke here thin. The wife and kids in tow he tells me he's been put in charge of the ceremony, not knowing he's speaking to an ordained minister of the First Nation Church and foot soldier on the war to liberate Winter Solstice from its Christian captors. Salute. He doesn't need the credentials I have becaaaaaaause this isn't a real wedding as Howie is already married. Long story I guess but we are gathered here today to seal the deal. Can they get a witness! Yes they can. Lots of them.
I have an awkward chat with Howie's sister who probably has never seen me with my hat off. She is best friends with my sister and I meet her hubby who seems unusually happy to meet me the legendary Nick Sandin. I also got to talk with ex-half-sis Lisa who is also a classmate but she only went to school in Kodiak in 7th grade, the book bag year. Despite the time I knew who exactly who she was in half a second of seeing her.
Alf and I get 300 level seats next to The Inmate's offspring, The House of Oz as Jack Daddy introduced himself, Howie, and the bride Mrs. Mary.
Let me stop here for a second to say this. I always admired how Howie has lived his life as the self proclaimed Alaskan Nomad, going around Earf Planet twice with a backpack and a rock solid desire for adventure. Friends and family have tried to steer him to a 9 to 5 existence with no success (index and pinky extended) as he pushed his passport to its limits. Then in Bolivia he discovered there was something about Mary that did what no one else could. It is a really romantic story but back to Howie. I have nothing but admiration of how he lives by his own terms, never overvalued the dollar, and never settled for second best when it came to women. In love I don't think there it is a matter of deserving or not but regardless I'd say he earned such a fantastic spirit as Mary and I can't say that for a lot of people. And now that he's married leaving me as the last solo flyer of The 89 Crew I kind of got what I wanted as well and that was for life to take care of all my friends first.
Meet the Persians. After The Inmate told the story that I didn't about how they ended up together we were treated to a presentation on Mary's family's middle-eastern traditions and culture. As I understand her family came to 'Merica in 1979 when the Iranian government ejected. They always spoke of being Persian and never Iranian and spoke of pre-Muslim beliefs, a very eye-opening thing at an unexpected time. His brother Spielberg then took the stage and laid out the traditions of Tlingit tribes and how Mary would be invited to join either the Raven or Eagle clan. This was so cool.
Uncali of the event, it rained in spurts during the outdoor ceremony and people pulled out these odd devices that fold and out and cover you called an umbrella or something like that. What a bunch of pussies.
Time to eat, drink, and toast Mary. Inside the Wayne Mansion for supper and boozahol. I spy Tom with an H and he flashes his iPhone apped straight to Facebook were my drunk arse instantly got posted.
The Inmate has to get back to The Black Hole and leaves way early (I'm now sitting on the pot, blogging. This is AWESOME! I have to get a laptop of my own. Sorry, Wolfmother). The facility is divided into three large rooms and I'm in the middle one. We have numbers by our names that directs us to tables which separates me from my capital city wingman named for a cat eating alien.
(back on the couch now, thanks)
It turns out to be kind of the Alaska table highlighted by two older native ladies, The Auntie Twins. There are hot middle eastern chicks everywhere but I'm actually more into talking 49th history such as Benny Benson and Jacob the Post Card Crab Guy.
Dinner consists of steak with an unidentified fish that some said was halibut, others reported was swordfish. I'm downing champaign like there is an H in my name. Lohan couldn't hang. I drink so much Brut they call me Mr. Bubble, I drink Crown as a double, shots and they'll be trouble. I'm Deffer than Pf.....nevermind.
The dancing starts but I, or we, Alf and I, have a slight issue being how are we getting back to Los Gatos. Most of the ladies seem to be spoken for and Alf seems like want to get back to the bar like a four star Sandinista general. So one minute after last call from the catering bartender we snagged a couple with a car who were going back our way.
They insisted they'd be happy to drive us to our hotel and we insisted they let us out at the corner so we could go to the bars. The idea of partying past 10pm seemed to not registar with them.
Dressed in our fresh fly threads we walk to the other end of the strip to a bar I saw earlier called Carrie Nation. Its not bad except for the Raider Miller Lite plastic flags on the ceiling. Sierra Nevada will work and we get a table under a big screen and talk football, flirt with the waitress, and sigh a sigh of relief we got downtown and escaped the reception in time to take on Los Gatos in full effect.
Our stay at Carrie's is short and we decide to go to a nightclub across the street call 180. That's what the Mecca should be called because when you get there you outta....180. Boycott the Mecca. $10 cover for this upstairs joint. It has been a long arse time since The Island Warrior stepped into the club scene but armed with what I know now I felt like a man amongst boys in this place. Soon I have a lot of eye contact and smiles with a cute Philippino girl but decide to see what else is out there before targeting her for Jr. Sandinista. Alf disappears to a bar next door which seems to have a country theme. After making yellow water come out body I discover the place has been invaded by megababes. Mega. Babes. It is like the Beryl's Sweet shop of eye candy, JC and a side of rice, those ladies look nice. The Philipino girl is making out with some guy on the dance floor that isn't. Snap. Alf and I figure we better get to an environment better suited for a pair of Tundra Dogs and we go down a block to Black Watch.
Every girl we talk to to leaves. Ow. Bad timing, bad breath, I have no idea but my mouth knows no words it won't use at this point. I have Beer Goggles and Whiskey English, an unstoppable yet highly resistible force of nature. Then we met Lisa, Alexia, and Sami on her 24th birthday. They introduce us to the house special, kamakozees. Lisa introduced her rear end to my lap. They they leave. Damnit.
Stagger back to the LGL with a short circuiting memory and figuative hole in my duct tape wallet.
