If It Feels Good Do It

GET ON YOUR FEET

Ross came over and we had some coffee. Slowly the life returned to my blood.

There was a free party in San Francisco at McLaren Park that a good friend, Joel from Benicia had told me about. It was being thrown by pacific sound, featured house music, was running from noon to 7 p.m. and was free. The price was right for a good time.

Ross, myself and Joel made plans to meet up there.

In light of current market conditions and out of respect for the health advisory, we decided ahead of time not to drink at the party.

A COLD, WINDY VIEW

But times change, and so do decisions.

God damn McLaren park was windy and cold. Not exactly the optimal environment for lying around and being healthy. So, we went and bought some Coors Light. Actually quite a bit of it.

The event was marketed as sort of a Pre-Burning Man party. Oh yeah, that reminds me, it’s time for another exclusive report.

IAN BOWMAN EXCLUSIVE REPORT

I’m going to Burning Man.

I recommend that you show up and get high. That would be awesome.

On life, I mean.

This concludes the Ian Bowman exclusive report.

THE VIEW WAS SO GOOD THAT I BARELY NOTICED THE WINDY COLD

If this was a Pre-Burning Man party, then I started to look even more forward to the actual event. Cute girls were everywhere. They would come up and talk to us for just being, uh, us.

Ross reevaluated his position on Burning Man, and decided he wanted to go.

We never did find Joel because it was so freaking crowded. Eventually we just sat on the grass and got drunk.

FIGHT ASS KICKING WITH ASS KICKING

There’s just something about San Francisco that inspires wimpy-ness. One famous example is the phenomena of the 49ers and their fans.

Additional case in point: when two guys walked in front of us and started yelling at eachother, I was primarily annoyed that they were disturbing my view of the skyline. I had become wimpily deranged.

They were arguing something about a girl. One of the guys said “fuck you” this. The other said “fuck you” that. Then they stood there staring at each other. It looked like one of them was about to connect fist to face.

It was remarkably similar to a conversation I had in Sonoma.

What was this abomination? Ass kicking and San Francisco can not co-exist.

“WHAT’S UP DUDES?” I yelled.

One of the guys turned and glared at me. “Nothing,” he said, “nothing is up.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” I said sarcastically. “Nothing is up.”

The guy took one step toward me to smack me in the jaw. I smiled. Then he stopped. After all, I was the one lying on the ground drinking cheap beer. He was the one who had just swilled a bottle of Whole Foods chardonnay purchased with savings acquired by buying discount granola.

The guy turned around to talk to his friend.

Ross and I drank more and laughed. Loud. This was good stuff.

Then, no more than thirty seconds later the two dudes walked away, arm-in-arm. No, I am not exaggerating. They even slowed down slightly to wave to me and say something like “See, we’re cool. Thanks. Take it easy, man.”

I had just turned premortem conflictus eruptus into postpartum homo eroticus.

And it was good.

THE END

Later that night after dinner Ross almost got a DUI. We got pulled over for something unrelated. Although I truly believe he was below the legal limit, I’m glad we didn’t have to find out for sure.

Alright, that’s it. I swear. You now know all three days of my two day weekend.

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