SF, blow by blow, part one.

I suppose it's about time I post about the trip to SF itself and fill in the details. Lots of details.

After my too long flight and being stuck between two military folks... no Estelle, I didn't back down from a fight, just chose to pick my battles. Kinda hard to run when you're stuck in a recycled beer can 34,000 feet above the planet...I arrived at the hotel around 2AM. I was up by 7:30AM (thank you eastern time) and chugging down Starfucks in the lobby by 9AM. My meeting with the Parc 55 wasn't until 1:00, so I tootled around about a 3-4 block area, taking in the sights and neighborhood. There's a great little park right across the street from the Marriott, completely accessible and with the requisite pigeons, fountains and homeless folks. Inside the park and on the perimeter there's a couple of small museums, art galleries and stores. Don't ask me what the name of it is, but I can picture it as a perfect place to go sit and un-conference when necessary.

Part of my wandering was to actually locate the Parc 55. I knew it had to be close, but I had no idea where it might be. I did find it fairly easily...leave the Marriott via the 4th St entrance, make a right and keep going until you find the Virgin...megastore...make a left and it's about 2 blocks. Just in case you wanted to know.

Anyway, after I found the Parc 55 I had plenty of time to kill. On the way, there's a small square, again, don't ask me the name, and one of the cable car lines ends there. Powell St. Something else I discovered - the homeless and hungry folks in a tourist town are pretty enterprising. Several hung around at the square and offered directions and help to anyone who looked like a tourist...for a price, of course. One guy offered to show me to a Walgreens and then pushed me up the hill to it. I gave him $2 for his efforts. I've been homeless, I know it sucks. Never begged, but if I had been in that situation longer, I may have.

There were a couple of guys shining shoes in front of the Virgin store and I gave them my boots to shine. Damn they came out good. The guy who shined my boots was nice enough, even if he did have the appliance repairman's butt crack thing happening. The other guy spent more time watching the women walk by than working. He probably gave spit-shines from all the drool.

After my 1:00 meeting, I headed back to the Marriott and just chilled. I went up to their bar on the top floor - the view of the city and the bay is amazing - and then back to my room. I had made plans to have dinner with a friend from Clearwater - we discovered that we would be in SF and at the SAME HOTEL at the same time so we made plans to meet. We had a mediocre Thai dinner and she turned in early. I headed for the bar. What a night. Let's just say that computer geeks work hard and party harder. I was wandering around the bar, looking for a place to land, and all of a sudden there's a camera flash in my face. WTF?! I start wandering towards it, curious, and there's 3 very drunk computer techies having a great evening. Apparently those 3 were what was left over...a couple of others had already gotten way past drunk and left. The guy with the camera offered to buy me a drink, so sure, I'll take free booze. I spent the rest of the evening with them, a couple of others from their group coming and going, and they bought me drinks all night. We had some interesting conversations about culture, Deaf issues, interpreting and religion/spirituality. They were surprisingly lucid, although I'm sure they looked at the pictures the next day and have no fucking idea who the chick in the wheelchair is.

The next day, way too early at 7:15, I had a meeting with the conference co-chair. It was pretty light chat and we discovered our fathers are buried in the same cemetery in NY, for what it's worth. Then I had a 9:00 meeting with several managers from the Marriott. That went well and I was done by 11:00. After the meeting, my friend Corbett, who lives in the East Bay and who I haven't seen for a couple of years, picked me up. I had planned to stay with her and her daughter until I left Saturday morning. No need to take advantage of the Marriott's hospitality.

That afternoon, after a couple of shuffles with vans and drivers, Corb introduced me to power soccer. What a blast! Corbett is on the national team and she coaches a youth team in the bay area. Let me back up a tad and tell you about our trip to the gym. We had picked up her friend and teammate Karyn and drove Karyn's van to the gym. On the way, all of a sudden, there's no brakes. Pedal to the floor. In rush hour Bay area traffic. Fuck. Corb does a great job of not hitting anyone and giving plenty of room between her and the guy in front. Right about that time, Corb and I both notice a burning smell. Fuck. We take it slowly and when we get to the gym, Karyn, automotively clueless and champion worry-wart, goes in to start the kids' practice and we check out the van. I look at the brake fluid, check for leaks...everything I can think of. Finally Corb comes out from the driver's side and informs me that we just drove 30 minutes with the parking brake on! No idiot light, that would have been too obvious. Two hours later the brakes have cooled and are perfectly fine. Well, a bit worn down but they work. Power soccer itself, well, I was supposed to be assisting Corb and Karyn, laying low (everyone but me was in a power chair and had guards on the front of their chairs) and just trying not to get hurt. I didn't get hurt but my competitive side definitely came out. Sorry kids.

That night, after dropping Karyn off, we had dinner at yet another Thai place in Berkeley. Much better food. We then hopped the BART and headed for home.

Episode 2 later...