The Throne Room

As any recent geographical transplant knows, getting a new apartment set up can be a major chore. For some of us, it is the type of chore that can last all year, or perhaps a few years, or more likely until that point when we are about to move out. In my endeavors to create a new home in sunny Colorado, I have learned how to spray paint, burnt holes through several credit cards, and conned friends into building my furniture (thanks, Tirzah). What, you may ask, do I have to show for it? So far...only a delightful bathroom.



I aimed to recreate the feel of the French countryside where I was a youth, so I could sit on the pot and recall my fond childhood memories of freshly baked baguettes with warm brie, sunning myself on the Riviera, and afternoons spent smoking at a café and ridiculing the tourists. Those were the good old days.



Damask cloths in black and white with a touch of blue set the stage, and my new decorating technique of spray painting everything black has started to pay off.

Form and function, comfort and culture, toilet and tissues. Although it remains the only presentable room in the house for the moment, soon I will have put together a halfway-presentable place for all my friends to visit. That means you. So if you miss me, or have the desire to bathe in style, all this could be yours.

Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in your Hair

When in the right company, you can always manage to have fun…even in California. I am still amazed as to the amount of booze-laced adventure that Mike, Allison and I managed to find in a 5-day trip to northern Cali (as the natives call it) over the July 4th holiday. As with all good stories, it began with ice cream sandwiches.

Mike came to meet me as I de-boarded my plane at the San Francisco airport, and we had a few hours to kill before Allison would arrive from DC. We grabbed some grub and, thanks to a delicious language barrier, ended up with a sac of ice cream sandwiches. High on dairy and the joy of each others' company (or possibly it was just a Californian contact-high), we snatched up our little friend when she arrived and headed into the wilderness of the Golden State. Our first stop was Mike’s trendy apartment, which he has decorated immaculately as only a true metro-sexual can. I don’t think I shall ever have a place as classy (or as expensive per square foot), and it proved a comfortable place to drink mojitos and reminisce.


We took a trip to downtown Santa Clara for my first ever Tequila Bar experience. Not being a huge fan of tequila (as it and my pants are mutually exclusive), I sipped sangria and admired the hundreds of bottles of Mexican hooch lining the walls. We then staggered down the street for some sushi, which I was desperately craving after living for a month in a land-locked state. Oh, Colorado – you are so beautiful, yet so devoid of raw fish! Our insatiable posse then waddled to another restaurant for some pizza, and then hired some Oompa Loompas to roll us back to Mike’s place for drinks on the porch until our jet lag caught up to us.

Day two of our whirlwind tour took us to Apple Computers’ Headquarters, which is a verdant, sprawling campus with abundant coffee and long-haired freaky people. We visited in the aftermath of the first iPhone release, which was evidenced by iconic posters and shrines set up in its honor. We saw Steve Jobs running around with his lackeys, drank coffee, visited their store and had lunch with a graphic designer who gave Allison some tips on how to get her foot in the Apple door. I gave him some tips on how to get his foot in my door, but I guess he wishes they all could be California girls…

Monterey Bay was the next stop, as we enjoyed the rocky coastline, the chill of the salt air, and a rather impressive aquarium featuring more jellyfish than you could shake a stick at.




In my opinion, jellyfish are like the Zen monks of the sea, floating aimlessly through the void and combing little geometric patterns with their tiny rakes in the sand (or something like that).


Almost as soothing as the jellyfish were the bread bowls of clam chowder that we consumed to shake the afternoon chill from our bones. That night, we took in a showing of the Transformers movie, which was really the story of my life.

Day three began with a quick bagel run and then a scenic car ride into Napa valley, where Grapes are King.


Although our timing prevented us from taking a tour, we hit the most important part and did a wine tasting as soon as we arrived. At Domaine Carneros, we sipped their sparkling wine collection in the warm afternoon sun while nibbling cheeses, sampling dried fruits, and making fun of each others’ moms.



The weather was perfect, and driving through the countryside (stopping every so often for another wine tasting) was a pleasure as we wound our way north to the Charles Shultz museum.


Inappropriate poses with Peanuts characters aside, we enjoyed a nostalgic journey through childhood and a few chuckles courtesy of this comic pioneer.



Once we returned to Mike’s swingin’ bachelor pad, we took a dip in the hot tub and finished out the evening with a newly-purchased bottle of wine and the kind of heart-to-heart talks that only alcohol can inspire.

Saturday was our big tourist day, and we began by climbing all over the redwood forests, foraging for grubs and swinging from tree to tree.


The fog was thick that day, but under the forest’s canopy it was crisp and cool (not that I wasn’t sweating like a pig anyway). The winding roads up to and back from the park were enjoyable (and, luckily, no car sickness ensued), as was the drive into the city across the Golden Gate bridge.




We stopped at one end for a while to walk along the bridge and take many pictures of the amazing structure itself, a sea lion that was floating listlessly below, the cityscape on one side and Alcatraz looming before us.


Once in the city itself, we ran around like giddy San Fran wannabes, shopping and riding a cable car, enjoying some pear cider (the new love of my life) at a bar in the Mission District and running through Fisherman’s Wharf to catch the ferry to Alcatraz.



We caught the last tour of the day, which left us there in the spooky hours of twilight before the tour was complete. Apart from the standard audio tour (which was one of the best I’ve ever heard, with testimonials from former guards and inmates), we got to tour the deliciously gruesome medical wing and witness a presentation on the “Sounds of the Slammer”, which explained how the cell doors operated and what they sounded like when in motion.


The stirring tour ended with us lingering after everyone else departed so we could enjoy the spooky emptiness of the infamous penitentiary at night.


We caught a rickshaw, driven by Borat, and were pedaled to dinner (and drinks) at the Hard Rock Café.


We had a few minutes to change into some Goth Gear before heading out to Billy Idol White Wedding night at New Wave City’s DNA Lounge. Having a chance to mingle with the local color was certainly an experience, especially when enhanced by more pear cider and my (admittedly awesome) dance moves. Men dancing with men, women dancing with rabbits, and me dancing at all are not sights for the faint-hearted Puritan souls back East. But this was California, where spirits are free and shoes are optional, and 3 AM rolled around before we abandoned our newfound friends and headed to the Parc Fifty Five hotel – four starts, one for every hour of sleep we got that night - before catching early flights back home the next morning.


Allison and I had the same flight to Denver, although we were both too tired to enjoy the pleasure of each others’ company. Home by 3:00 PM and in bed by 3:30, I slept as visions of giant rabbits danced in my head. Much thanks to my travel companion and our delightful host – my memories of California will greatly outlast the hangover.