There’s an old saying that to truly understand a person’s perspective you need to walk a mile in their shoes. I’d like to suggest spending an afternoon in their pants! Literally, spend an afternoon in someone’s pants and you’ll never look at your own clothing the same again.
February's San Francisco adventure included joining the bridge and tunnel folk to celebrate Chinese New Year, having drinks with the locals during the Chinese New Year parade and visiting West Portal for dinner. Why do this you ask?
Well, Frank read that there was a local family establishment along the Chinese New Year Parade route and we decided to do a walk about and then end there for a little celebration for the Year of the Dog. I was dressed for the unusually sunny day and Frank noted that I would be more comfortable wearing pants. So, after a few attempts, I found a pair that seemed to fit. Thirty minutes later, I realized that I should have also opted for a belt … apparently my 37 year old ass does not have the same shelf life it used to and I was looking a little more hip hop than is appropriate for this old white boy. I have to admit, I don’t pay much attention to my pants so the need to hoist them up every thirty seconds must be similar to someone who gets their nipple pierced and all of sudden feels the t-shirt rubbing across their chest in ways they never felt before or never noticed. No, no, no. I'm just speculating … don’t read into this … really. Trust me. Nipple rings and a hairy chest are not a good match.
Chinese New Year Festival
We worked our way to Grant street, early enough to not have to wade through the parade route nesters and not too late that the festival was closed. In route, we stopped by the park located in China Town. During a typical day there are children running around, older people playing games that you can't buy at Target and the usual array of birds. Today, it was packed with the usual and the tourists. Now this park also has one of the few easily accessed public restrooms, and as I am apt to do, I take advantage of such knowledge. I never want to have the conversation that the restroom is for customers only discussion. Hmm. I’m not sure if there are levels of mistakes but the restroom on this day could qualified as a level orange.
Public restrooms are generally unpleasant places to do business in the first place and the heavy usage from the day’s events made for an even more unpleasant experience. Of course, I can’t argue with my bladder once it’s been given permission to … you know. There was a line of older Asian men and I respectfully joined the queue, noting that my thongs would not protect my toes from the miniature Lake Shasta that had gathered just inside the door … and I’m not referencing the Lake Shasta of the late 80’s after a couple years of drought. Ick.
So, there I am in the middle of older gentlemen who apparently did not get the memo that others might be in queue ahead of them. I know it is heightist of me, but at 6’3” and 270 pds I should be a formidable presence. Nope. Cut. Cut again. Cut. Cut. Cut. I guess if you look at the floor and race to the next availablel urinal or toilet who can blame you for being rude? I found the whole no eye contact thing annoying. The lake started swirling. My eyes were swimming and I was praying that somewhere the bleach gods would unleash a stream into the enclosed space. It didn’t happen, so bolstering my courage and setting aside my good manners, I pushed forward and secured a urinal. I positioned myself appropriately close to my urinal, squarely set between the two partitions. I then learned how our mini-lake Shasta was formed.
In the book, Daisy May and the Miracle man, there is a chapter about Daisy May going to the local Bingo Hall with her Grandmother. The first time I read the scene was on a road trip with Shelby, my girlfriend at the time. Anyway, we were taking turns reading and it was my turn to read when we got to the Bingo chapter. In the book, Daisy finds herself in a similar situation to mine except she was given strict instructions to “hover” over the toilet, lest she encounter the pools of urine that have gathered on the seat. Being a guy, I did not know about the hover instructions that are passed down from generation to generation of females. In her quest to not touch the sprinkled seat, her legs cramped and she slipped and fell … exactly. Ick. Poor Shelby, she started laughing so hard that we had to pull to the side of the road to finish the chapter. So I’m in my Daisy position and I feel a little splash on my unprotected foot, which is license to identify the source. The source turned out to be a geriatric Asian man who did not feel compelled to approach the urinal, instead he was standing a full two feet back and taking aim, poor aim, but aim not the less. I can understand that he didn't want to get to close to the puddle in front of his urinal, but he was adding to it and peeing on my foot at the same time. Perhaps if I had stood two feet back, it would not have been an issue? Hmm, perhaps this too is some secret that is passed on from generation to generation among those in China Town.
Note to self … avoid the China Town public restroom.
The Quest
At this time, the sound of firecrackers and poppers could be heard constantly. Frank went into the must-have-poppers-now mode. Poppers or Snaps are little white balls that “Pop” when thrown on the ground. We entered the throng of people and after a little distraction he was successful. My sister and her eldest daughter, Brianna, visited a few years ago at this time. I have to admit deriving great pleasure throwing the snaps at her feet and having her hit me. Evil uncle.
Now, if the snaps could silence red necks, that would be an accomplishment. Having been ignored earlier, I discovered that I might not be at fault. During the festival, the bridge-and-tunnel folk from around the country arrive in their inside-their-own-homes voices and comments. Usually, these can be heard as running commentary at a movie theater. This time they are on the streets, purchasing Chinese male hats with braids and yelling...
Guong Ha Foot Chow … Guong Ha Foot Chow … Guong Ha Foot Chow … Dude, I learned to say that in school. Orientals say that for their New Year … Guong Ha Foot Chow!
Some might call it ballsy to be yelling like an idiot in a way that is obviously not "respectful" in the middle of China Town. It could be like bringing out your personal hand-drawn copy of the cartoon drawings that are causing all of the ruckus at a Mosque. Good times. Perhaps the splash on my foot in the bathroom was intentional and was the man's way of making things even in the world. Who knows?
It was then time to head back to Ginger Trois, a small establishment that was packed with people, of all shape, color, gender, age, and levels of intoxication. Christmas from 1978 is still being celebrated though there were several Chinese lanterns hung, though when they were hung, is up for questioning. One gentleman had a rhinestone belt buckle in the shape of a pirate. Odd. Even more odd was the fact that his entire back pocket was covered with shiny rhinestones … someone got a little crazy with their Bedazzler. We enjoyed the view, a few beers and then headed outside to see the parade.
People walked. People lit firecrackers. Lions chased balls into the crowd and long dragons wound their way down the street. Good times. Getting a little hungry we thought that we should … go for Mexican at El Toreador in West Portal.
El Toreador
The best way to our Chinese New Year celebration? How about a trip on MUNI underground out to West Portal and enjoy dinner at El Toreador?
