The 'Frisco Bay

Of the varying ways to push a San Franciscan's buttons, referring to their misty bay area jewel as San Fran, the 'Frisco Bay, or Los Angeles Jr. is surely at the top of the list. Other ways include blithely tossing recyclables into the trash, repeatedly confessing an undying love for the motor vehicle (the unimpeachable Prius excepted, naturally), or being from Southern California. 

I kid. 

But really; how dare you. 

Luckily, my Bay Area pals are only slightly less judgmental, though Long Beach got a rather unhealthy flogging from one of them. I digress. We can't all live in the greatest city in California, after all. There simply aren't enough homes in Long Beach, so San Francisco will have to take some of the stragglers.

Oh, the smack I talk after a long weekend. 

Let's get down to the nitty gritty, shall we? I spent a week exploring SF with my good pal Dustin and our friends of the northern persuasion. Dustin had his camera in tow so I'll dutifully link when the time is right for the fancy photos, but for now, you'll have to settle for my iPhone and a steady hand. 

First stop: Trader Vic's for scorpion bowls

We came to Golden Gate Park for the bison, but quickly got distracted by the trees.

Exploring tattoos, Sutro Baths, and alleys

I joined up with Emily for an exploration of Rio Vista. Discovered: Foster's Bighorn Bar, featuring over 300 animal trophies from all over the world. When I die, I want to be propped up in a corner somewhere in this restaurant with my eyes taped open so I can look at the animals for ETERNITY. 

Our most gracious host for the week, Dani Scoville. What a beaut. What a woman. 

Off the beaten trail at Muir Beach, after a picnic.

Stopped by St. George for a tasting. Three sheets to the wind, or so it would seem. Darian's looking slightly more distinguished. But don't let the mustache fool you.

Dani's ink is inspired by a Rilke poem, so I thought I'd capture it, and her, in her livingroom.

Em and I spent some time sketching the wildlife at Foster's. Here are my sketches. 

...And here are Emily's. 

Making judgment calls at the Fairmont post-Tonga Room.

Dani shot this one. We both look awesome, just in different ways.

The Inland Empire

In honor of the first full weekend that I'll be able to spend in the new place, I thought I'd give The Internet a peek inside our new abode. 

Repeat with me now: IT. IS. EDEN. 

It is. The edibles count is now up to twelve (lemon, Meyer lemon, loquat, mint, Italian kale, figs, peas, strawberries, avocado, bamboo, African guava, and Zinfandel grapes), and this morning I made my first batch of lemonade from the Meyer tree. So join me, won't you, while we laze about this Long Beach idyll?  

Big thanks to Dustin Giallanza for helping me out with a couple of these pictures.

He's pissed because he now has competition for some of the edibles. YOU'RE GOING DOWN, SQUIRREL. 

Fake birds abound. So do real ones, but they're harder to photograph. 

Hummingbirds are notorious divas, as you may well know.

Once again, as with the last house, literature and footwear duke it out for prime placement on the shelves.

Soon this tree will produce guavas, but till then, the petals are edible!

Springtime blooms. There's kale buried in there somewhere, too. Fig in the foreground (top right).

Perfect for lounging or checking ones' Facebook. 

Oh, there's more where that came from, friends. So much more.

Golden Bird

Here's one more Instagram from the wedding. Not sure who snapped it, but I got it from Mr. Sjoberg. That's my leafy green likeness at the bottom there, but didja see the golden bird? Can't miss him.

Equilibrium

There are a few things I'm known for. Among the notables are witty asides delivered knowingly at the wrong time, punchbowls full of beverages so lethally boozy they could crack the stony visages on Mount Rushmore, run-on paragraphs whose topical rope ties itself into a nautical knot, and crying like an angry infant whose wee ass has just been slapped for the first time.

I'll let you guess which of those notables I fulfilled over the past few weeks of relative blogging silence. (Hint: ALL OF THEM.)

First there was Fauxchella the Fifth, then there was a little thing I like to call packing up ones' entire life and moving it four blocks due north, followed by the Gramicci shoot in Joshua Tree, a 10-day stint in NYC, and most recently, the nuptials of two of my favorite people: Josh McBride and Jes Howen. 

Oh, and then I got Instagram, which I swore I'd never do, sure, but I also never thought I'd get pelted in a cloud of glitter whilst wearing a headdress--the core of which isn't so unbelievable, but the fact that Ke$ha wasn't the one holding the pouch of fairy dust is, frankly, shocking. So what I'm saying is, there's a first time for everything. Other things, like the lethal punch or crying at any number of emotional triggers, aren't firsts or even tenths, but are a necessary part of what makes me your lovable (if obtusely caustic and slightly paranoid) pal LD. 

Speaking of (relative) firsts, I didn't have my camera on hand for any of the non-work-related stuff. Which means you're going to have to wait to see what the mythical love child of Steinbeck, Stevie Nicks, and The Seventies looks like when our three (!) photographers of the weekend reveal the fruits of their labor. 

Here's what I have to offer: A photo of myself and my three fellow lady Sirens (there were two gentlemen as well) on the wedding day in our full regalia. But the real purpose of this post is to share a mix I made in honor of the bride and groom (trust me, a weepily nostalgic tribute post will likely arrive on the heels of the wedding photos). We spent three days on the Delta in Northern California sunning and swimming, followed by the Wedding To End All Weddings, which took place at the base of a sprawling oak tree. In a golden field. On a vineyard. At! Sunset! (Ragged, teary breath drawn by yours truly.) I wanted to capture the spirit of the event, as well as point musically to specific memories I've attached to moments throughout the week. 

Sitting beneath the vines at 2am under a starry sky. Listening to music penned by friends old and new. The way the water at the Delta stretched over the horizon. Dancing in a sweaty, euphoric mass beneath a constellation of sparklers. Watching one of my oldest and dearest friends lay his fears down at the feet of his love and embark on a new life marked by bravery. 

You may not have been there, but I hope to have captured some of the lightning in this bottle. 

Get the mix HERE.