Take the "Gangs of New York"-spoof scene in Anchorman, except replace the rival newscasts with members of Warrant, Motley Crue, Poison, and Whitesnake. Who would win and why? Do the guys from Great White suddenly appear and light everyone on fire?

...

See, to give you an idea, this is what pops into your head on Interstate 5, spending 15 hours of your weekend driving through the San Joaquin Valley. Everything's a blur - if I wasn't hypnotized by the highway, then I was drinking heavily at Olourkin's wedding up in San Fran. The only coherent moments I remember were talking life with JD^2 over food.

Even if a trip like that spins you around, it was totally worth it. The wedding ceremony was twenty minutes in and out, if that. Not only was it quick and to-the-point, but it also featured an Apache Indian blessing. Seriously, how can a wedding go wrong with a friggin Apache effing Indian Blessing?

(These are the things my parents would never let me get away with. It's also why I plan to never get hitched - instead I'll just keep setting up franchises. Deal?)

The reception was a huge success - Anchor Steam flowed as honey. We had a fun little J-school reunion at "The Marina" table, complete with Labriel, Smash and Jizibel. Of course, Smashtar was appropriately smashtarred, (I still love that my Dad asked, "so which one's the girl who drinks in the office?" when he visited DC last summer. Ah, the power of the pen. I don't think I cleared that up with him either...)


And San Fran's such a picturesque town. Still...something just doesn't sit right about that city, you know? Since I had approximately 648 hours to ponder this in the car, here are several reasons:

1. There's no easy way to get there. Take the coastal route and you'll be dazzled for a few hours - then you realize you still have twenty hours to go, during which it's probably raining - because it's NoCal and the weather is switched to Perma-Suck - so chances are your treads will slip and you'll spin off the road, plunge several hundred feet off a scenic cliff, and impale yourself in the twisted heap of metal. Good times. Or you could slingshot up I-5 and shave your drive in half. Problem is, it's so mundane that the Third Law of Boredom-Relativity kicks in and it actually feels like you've been driving for twenty hours, so it cancels out. Then you pull a Fight Club and steer your car into a drainage ditch, so the horrible car-crash element balances out too.
   
   (In case you couldn't tell, I'm a big fan of the drive.)
   
   
2. It's filled with Giants fans. Seriously, San Francisco's the most progressive major U.S. city, but it might as well be filled with Republicans. How do you pro-actively choose to root for the Giants? For the Barry Bonds? For the Juan Marichals? I just don't get it. I'll stick with the good guys. On Sunday I walked past this old cripple and he was wearing this Giants cap, tattered from years of love and devotion to the team. I was almost tempted to steal his cane, knock him on the ground, and go Joe Pesci on him. ...That's what happens when you root for the good guys, see.
   
   
3. Again, the weather. I know it's cliche, but that Mark Twain saying is really true. It's not the ludicrous Chi-town cold where you bundle up like a yetti, but it's just cold enough that you wish you had. And it's one of those wet, damp colds that really gets under you skin. *SHIVER*
   
   
4. We live in San Francisco. You don't. On my way to the the restroom in this cafe, they had this shirt displayed that read, "I love San Francisco way more." Why the "way more"? Why not just love it? At least New Yorkers are up front about their superiority complex. San Franciscans still feel this element of shame, like they need to veil it.
   
   (Clearly, they lack the humility we possess in God's Country.)
   
   And why hide it? C'mon, you know why! Because they're all a bunch of...
   
   
5. Goddamn dirty hippies. That's right - this weekend I learned that people are too fucking nice in San Francisco. Eff them. I was standing on a corner, waiting to cross, when I hear this lady behind me warn a complete stranger that his shoe was untied! What kind of a sick world is that?! No place I want to raise my kids - my franchise kids, that's for sure.
   
   And newsflash: God hates the Grateful Dead. He's a Doors fan - he likes the edgy, the mysterious - not this shiny happy bullshit. Did you hear the NPR report on Nigerian cannibalism this morning? You think that's happening on a Grateful Dead fan's watch? Really?

Man, this post jumped the shark pretty fast. I better turn in, my drinks dry and-

[THUD]

zzz......