June 26-28, 2009

"Jesus loves Pumpkin Bread"

Our friend Alex lives next door to a monastery/convent up on a hill in Hollywood. The nuns there make a Secretly famous pumpkin bread that they use to keep the place running. We ended up getting a loaf of it and it was delicious. Also, we could see Jesus from our window.

We were also a block or two from the UCB Theater. (improv theater with roots in Chicago) We decided to investigate. The show involved three groups: a large team of eight, a beginning group of two people, and a middle group that would be composed of three audience members who put their names in the hat. Shelby and I put our names in the hat. The first name they drew...Shelby Burton. The second name...Joe Burton. What!? So we ended up playing in this show. The hosts were curious why we had the same last name and we told them the whole story and they thought that was nice. Then we did some improv with this UCB student who was also in the audience. It was fun.

The next morning we slept in and met Alex later in Griffith Park. We walked the wrong way so getting to the park was about 30min longer than it needed to be. Oh well, it was a fun walk. Alex had been doing a yoga retreat with her friend and drove us up to the observatory. it was a little hazy but still a beautiful view of the city.

"Cat and Fiddle"

We had Mexican food for dinner with Alex and another old Chicago friend Rachel and headed to the Cat and Fiddle. This was a bar where we told all of our LA friends to meet us if they wanted. We spent most of the night there left around 12:30am. I also got to see my friend Dele from high school and her husband Jon. They are both as it turns out, entertainment lawyers with NBC and Disney respectively. They tried to assure me that it sounded more impressive than it was, but I was still impressed. We were talking about staying an extra night and they offered to let us stay with them.

The next day, Alex took us to the LA farmer's market and I pretended to be a Dutch tourist. I had been joking around with this Dutch accent and Alex and Shelby named me Gregor. Every time they would ask me,
"Gregor, what do you think of this?"
I'd say in a brilliant Dutch accent.
"Oh it's very nice. I like it. Yes. We do not have these in Nederlands."
A roving vendor tried to sell us Michael Jackson Incense, so as Gregor I asked if it smelled like Michael Jackson.
"You be the judge."
"I have never gotten clothes enough to smell him."
"You've heard him though, right?"
"So, you say it will smell as he sounds"
"Yeah, man."
As I smelled it, i noticed the crudely xeroxed pictures of Michael that he had stapled to the top of his incense bags, and wondered if his sales had increased. He's probably been carrying around that MJ incense for years, with everyone giving him weird looks. Now is the best time for him to unload it, I bet. he was obviously really torn up by the loss of his brand namesake.

After, I smelled a few of them and decline the offer to buy any, he asked me where that accent was from.
"Is that Australian or Brit?"
He has obviously never met anyone from the Netherlands, or else he would have known right away. So I said,
"Neither actually, I'm from New Zealand."
It's probably not that great of an accent, but I had fun.

Shelby decided after buying homemade soap from a vendor there that she wanted to make her own soap. So, if anybody knows how to make soap...?

As we were walking, I spotted Michael Jackson's Star on the street. Not THE Michael Jackson the other, fake Michael Jackson from a long time ago. I kept taking pictures of it and various good Samaritan's kept telling me that it wasn't MJ's star. I insisted that it was the real Michael Jackson's star, and that I was a fan of the old radio announcer. It was strange that, I guess once people found out that wasn't the REAL MJ's star they felt like they could destroy the things that people left there. Flowers and candles, etc. that had been left there were crushed and broken. Curious.

"If I lived in Yogurtland I'd be happy ALL the time"

So, I guess, frozen yogurt is a big deal in LA. Like hot dogs or pizza or in Chicago. Alex took us to yogurtland a self-serve pay by the pound Yogurt joint. Gregor loved it.

That night we stayed with Dele and Jon. None of us had ever seen The Groundlings, and our old Chicago buddy Laurel is in the Sunday cast so we thought we go check it out, it being Sunday and all. Sadly, Laurel was not playing that night. We got to read her bio though. So that was cool. The show was really funny and it's always fun to compare the different styles of sketch and improv in different towns.

We ate breakfast at the 101 and took the 101 out of town headed for the Grand Canyon.

June 26, 2009

"Where are you Elephant Seals?"

Shelby had been told about these elephant seals that you could see in Ano Nuevo State Reserve. No one told the jerks to stay open past 3pm. We ignored the signs and went in anyway. The man can't stop us if we want to see some seals. He can put up all kinds of warnings about fines, put 3 miles (not an exaggeration) of meandering path between us and the seals with only 5 deaf tourists to point the way (also true) but nothing will stop us...that is except an eight foot length of chain across the sand path within spitting distance of the viewing area. All said the excursion took an hour and a half, we didn't see any elephants seals, the California Park Service and it's puny length of chain kept us from making the final 100 yards of our journey to the seals. Our punk anthem is called "We are Responsible, We are adults."

After a brush that close with the law, our Adrenaline was pumping. (Even the next morning) So, we decided to go see why everyone in Beverly Hills weekends in Carmel. It was as though Ralph Lauren ate a bunch of antiques, and threw up on the town from "Murder She Wrote." Wait let me google that...Cabot Cove!!! (thank you internet.) Too quaint. Too, picturesque. It was a California version of Cabot Stinking Cove...and Clint Eastwood used to be the mayor.

We made it to Big Sur for lunch. The second or third patch of redwoods we had seen, but it was really beautiful and only slightly touristy. And the biggest score of all was that a nice man who ran a general store there gave us the low down on a great Elephant Seal viewing spot. Take that, Park Service! We will not be denied. Elephant Seals!!! They fought a lot, sounded like coffee percolators, and smelled weird. They were awesome.

"Where are you, Elephant Man?"

Now, the only thing standing between us an L.A. was Neverland Ranch. We called our friend Andrea and she found the address on the world wide web. Score. We found the town on the map. Score. We found the exit. Score. Here's where the scoring stops. Our expectation was to find hordes of overly emotional fans from everywhere around the globe, but here, that we could gawk at. Alas, who would have thought it, someone's death was actually kind of depressing and surreal. We did not meet hordes of anyone. We were two of about eleven people who had walked up very quietly to the nice, but nondescript gate of the ranch. Neverland was not visible from the road. I imagine that there was a pretty steady stream of about three people every five minutes coming and going. The security staff had not at this point been overwhelmed. There were several signs and candles and bouquets that had been left.
It was quiet, surreal, uncomfortable. One drawing that a kid had left stands out. The top said something like "We will miss you". The drawing depicted Michael and the kid standing in front of a ferris wheel, and Michael's word bubble said,
"Hello, Lil Mouse"
It was signed,
"Love, Lil Mouse."

As we left, I notice a lone paparazzo, unshaven and napping in the back of a VW Westfalia with the side door slid all the way open. He was obviously waiting for the circus that we had expected. In that moment, I felt almost as dirty.

We left and arrived in L.A. at our friend Alex's house in Beachwood Canyon around dinner time.

(ps I've turned off the date stamp feature on Shelby's camera so at some point you will stop seeing pictures that tell you we are traveling in January of 2005.)

June 25, 2009

"Alcatraz"

We had tickets for Alcatraz at 10:30, so we biked down to the piers. There were at least 200 people there for our ferry. We joined the long, winding maze of fellow tourists. The line moved slowly, but the guy behind me stood as close as humanly possible as if to pressure me to keep it moving. I figured out by the way he dressed his children that he must be European. I assumed his proximity was a norm in whatever nation he calls home and eventually forgave him. I found out that the thing holding up the line was a photo opportunity in front of a giant photo of Alcatraz. Patron photography was prohibited in this area or else I would have taken a picture of the people taking pictures in front of the picture.

The ferry ride was short and once we had all unloaded, a park ranger gave us a quick orientation. We wandered around and looked at the exhibits from the Civil War era fort and the Indian occupation. I knew a little bit about the Indian protests on the island in the late 60’s early 70’s after the prison closed, but I didn’t know much about the history before it was a prison. I’m glad that they gave some attention to those parts.
The focus though was obviously the prison. We took the award winning audio tour. It seemed like all 200 of us started the recording at the same time, so we were all huddled around the same cell or point of interest fighting for a glance. I don't know who gives awards for audio tours. Is that a Grammy? Or maybe it's a National Parks Award. A Woodrow Wilson...or a Tafty.
Anyway, I'm glad Alcatraz got one, finally. The east coast has been dominating the past few years. Cape Hateras? give me a break, you're a lighthouse. Alcatraz is a lighthouse and a prison. BOOM!

After, Alcatraz we went to the Musee Mecanique, a museum of old coin operated machines. A bunch of people had told us to find it. It turned out to be right by the Alcatraz ferry. They had all kinds of love testers, shooting galleries and moving diaramas. They even had Pole Position.

We left San Francisco and took a slight detour to Berkley to have lunch my friends Zaak and Silva. We picked up Silva and went to Zaak's office on UC's campus. While we were walking out I heard someone say:
"You know who else died...Farrah Faucett."
Little did I know, but this would be the theme for the next few days.
Outside, we crossed the street to enter a cafe. A car pulled up blaring "You are not alone." And someone was screaming, with a bit of facecious bravado, "Michael!!! Michael!! We were all still oblivious, and I thought it was just a guy being an over zealous fan for fun. The cafe was also playing Michael Jackson, I noticed.
Leaving the cafe, there was a home made poster of the Smooth Criminal with bold letters that read: R.I.P. M.J.
I said,
"Guys, I think Michael Jackson died."
Indeed he had.

We dropped Zaak off at work and Silva back at home. On our way back to San Francisco, traffic was awful and every station was playing his songs. Starved for details we listened to every station break to get more information, but everyone was repeating the same stuff. We wondered why no one was playing Farrah Faucett's music. Then as we drove to LA, it was decided that we would stop at Neverland Ranch.

But, not yet. We had a few stops to make before we got there. We wanted to see Monterey, Carmel and Big Sur, but it was dark by the time we got there so we got a motel in Marina, CA, a small coastal town.

June 24, 2009

"I left my lungs in San Francisco"

I needed air for my tires so I rode up and down a few streets looking for a bike shop while Shelby stayed put and wrote in her journal. I finally found a bike rental place that let me use a pump. Waiting out side a woman asked me to take her picture with her bike. She asked where I was from.
“Chicago.”
I asked where she was from.
“Chapel Hill, NC.”
“What?! I’m originally from Raleigh.”

She and her husband worked at Duke. She was a sweet and obviously southern lady, her husband was obviously a transplant (like most of Duke’s student body) from New Jersey, or some such horrible place. Don’t get me wrong he was also very nice but all business and with no time to chat about geographic coincidence. They were going to bike over the Golden Gate and take the ferry back to Fisherman’s Wharf, a common route for cycling tourists.
Shelby and I had plans of our own. When I caught up with her she was reading on a bench underneath the TransAmerica Building (the pointy pyramid one).



We headed down Market St through the financial district and ran full tilt into a farmer’s market. We got off our bikes and walked them through to take a gander. After a few minutes we proceeded with the rest of the plan. The plan for today was this: Bike from North Beach to the Haight and wind our way through Golden Gate Park. On the other side of the park we would head up to the Cliff House and see that, then back through Golden Gate park to the Castro, and finally the Mission. Ambitious to say the least.

Biking up the worst hills proved impossible, but most of the hills were just very challenging. Determined to pedal up hills that my bike isn't gear low enough for, I nearly died twice. In GG park we saw the botanical gardens, the dutch windmill, and a WPA mural in the Park Chalet. Outside the Cliff House was a giant Camera Obscura. I was bummed that it was closed. Next to the Cliff House are the concrete ruins of the Sutro Baths, an old swimming resort from way back when that part of the city was secluded and cut off from the main part. We ate chili at a little diner called Louis’, which is also up on a cliff, just a few hundred feet from the more famous “Cliff House”

Back down the hill and through the park we made our way to the Castro. We locked up the bikes and explored. We found the GLBT Historical Society and looked around. They told us where to find Harvey Milk’s old photo shop and soon we were standing over the plaque and looking up at the mural on the second floor. I don't know enough about Harvey Milk to know how he would react to a giant plush penis walking down Castro, but I'm sure it would have made an impression.


We continued on to the Mission district for a drink and to find one of the taquerias that Claire had recommended. We stumbled onto a cool little bar called Amnesia (As we found out when we got to LA our friend Thom knows the owners) A Django Reinhart style jazz band was schedule to play so we stuck around until about an hour into their set. We walked on to get dinner at la Corneta and headed biking back home exhausted after a full day of exploration.

June 23, 2009

"San Francisco"

We had a great breakfast at Blue Lake’s only restaurant and Claire gave us a bunch of great things to see and do in San Francisco. Armed with our list, we said good bye and took the 101 South. We drove through some amazing redwood forests. You hear about the size of the trees, but nothing can prepare you for it.
As we approached we kept an eye out for any land marks then we came around a hill and saw the Golden Gate Bridge headed straight for us. As we drove over it it was relatively clear and we met tons of cyclists coming from the city. We drove straight into the city and up Lombard St. (steep) and then down Lombard St. (the real windy section) Our first tourist destination taken care of in the first 5 min.

We were headed straight to the piers to try and get a tour of Alcatraz right away. We wanted to get that out of the way soon. Turns out the earliest time they had tickets for was Thursday morning, the day we were planning on leaving. So, instead of the first thing we did it would be the last thing we did.

We Checked into our hostel, The Green Tortoise. It was extravagant as far as hostels go. Very nice and full of travelers. That night we decided to walk around North Beach find a bar and relax. We walked through Chinatown, went to City Lights bookstore (an old haunt of the Beats) and found the Claire recommended “Specs”, a bar that reminded us a lot of Chicago’s Old Town Ale House. In some ways North Beach and Old Town seemed very similar in general. For dinner we walked a little farther and found a stretch of Italian restaurants, we had no recommendation so we were deliberating, when a tall, dark haired gent popped out of Michaelangelo’s doorway.
“Hey, folks come on in. I’ll give you a glass of wine on me.”
We must have looked unconvinced even though I was pretty much sold, because he kept chatting with us.
“Where you from?”
“Really? My Grand father’s from Chicago.”
“My dad’s name is Joe. He was actually mad that my mom didn’t name me Joe. So I’m Michaelangelo Joseph.”


We went in and had calamari and ravioli. We got some giggly folks nearby to take our picture. They were especially tickled, because we were sitting under neath a naked man. As we were getting ready to leave two women walked in and one was wearing an NC State shirt. Very rare. (UNC apparel is everywhere because everyone buys it regardless of whether they went there, but someone wearing a Wolfpack shirt must be an alum) On our way out we asked them if they had gone there. They were actually current students who were spending the summer in SF. One was from Greensboro and the other was from Shelby.
“What!? I’M from Shelby.”
Then Shelby explained that she was born in Charlotte and that it is just coincidence that she happened to be named Shelby and later move to Shelby, NC.
Anyway, small world.

We went back to the hostel and prepared for a full day of biking, starting in the morning.

June 22, 2009

"Population 7,099 +2"

Me: After Humbug was Blue Lake, CA. Population 7,099.
You: I’ve never heard of Blue Lake.
Me: Me neither, before this.
You: Why Blue Lake? What’s in Blue Lake?
Me: Interesting story…My old friend Claire from high school.

When Shelby and I were planning out this trip we tried to get in touch with everyone we knew whose town we were going to be going to. We told friends in LA, my cousin in OR, and My friends Claire and Colin in Austin, TX.

You: But I thought you said Blue La..
Me: Enough out of you! I’m getting there.


As it turns out Claire would not be in Austin when we would be there. (We will get to see her husband Colin.) Claire would be in Northern California at a month long theater intensive for Comedia Dell’Arte. (An old Italian style of theater)
“But Claire,” I says, “Claire…WE will be in Northern California.”
Five minutes of hysterical laughter ensued.


So here we were in Blue Lake. Actually, we arrived on the same day Claire did and after meeting up with her found out we were able to stay in an extra room in her dorm.
Then we drove her over to Arcata, one town over and with more variety of stuff to do. Arcata has a college town feel, in part due to the college there. We ate dinner and walked around and Claire lamented the fact that she didn’t have a car and would be stuck for the most part in Blue Lake for the weekends. There is apparently only one restaurant in Blue Lake. However there was this exciting box outside the building where she was staying. After exploring Arcata, we went back to Blue Lake. Claire’s roommates were playing trivial pursuit without the board so we joined for a while. When I answered correctly that Hitler became Chancellor of Germany in 1933, Claire shot me a suspicious look and Shelby started a rumor that I was a Nazi. Not true.

June 21, 2009

“Father’s Day? Bah, Humbug”

We left Portand relatively early so we could have lunch with my cousin John and his family in Corvalis, OR. I apologized for high-jacking their Father’s Day, but they didn’t seem to mind. When we got to their house John, Margit and their two kids Henry and Liza all greeted us as we walked in. Henry and Liza gave us a whirlwind tour of the house, highlights of which included Henry’s Pokemon cards and Liza’s acrobatics. Shelby piqued Margit interest when she mentioned that here students all play pokemon.
“Do they ever grow out of it?”
“Yeah, not a lot of my 5th graders play Pokemon. Maybe some of the less mature 5th graders but not many.”
That seemed to give Margit hope.

We headed out the door to lunch and posed for a picture in front of the house. Liza made a game of grabbing my hat.

We got lunch to go from a local bakery and took it to some nearby picnic tables. We hopped around to different table trying to find one that was somewhat sheltered from the rain that snuck up on us, but eventually made it back to the bakery and ate inside. Henry said,
“It’s not a picnic in Oregon if you’re not moving.”

When we left them we went across town to get an oil change. We’re driving a rental, but it had been 3000 miles and I’d like to think that Hertz would do the same for me. (I’m told that they will reimburse us.)


John had given us directions for the Oregon coast so we headed west for our first peek of the pacific. We stopped, hiked up a huge sand dune and there it was. In the late afternoon sun it looked warm and inviting. The afternoon sun is a lying sack of hammers. I put my feet in and nearly froze those beanbags off. Cold. Cold but worth it.

We drove south down some amazing coastline. The towns, the temperature, and the terrain reminded us of Maine. Ironic that they both have a Portland. I just realized that the alliteration and the rhyme of that last one should be a poem. Here goes. It’s called:
“Ironic that they both have a Portland”

The towns
The temperature and
The terrain
Reminded us of Maine

The signs
That shown on
The shore, again,
Assured us it was Oregon.


Not bad. We camped at a state park called Humbug Mt., watched a beautiful sunset and camped for the first time without any rain whatsoever. (Previous camping nights have involved at least some small amount of rain.) We made Cincinnati style chili that any true Cincinnatian would probably scoff at but we nevertheless devoured.