This is my last evening on the West Coast, and I'm a little conflicted. I'm having a really nice time being away but a series of important New York-related things have presented themselves in the last couple of days, working in concert to drag my mind back home even while my body is prancing along the coastline with sea spray and vanilla hemp granola crumbs in my beard. As John Steinbeck wrote in Grapes of Wrath, "DOUBLE BUMMER." (By the way, Steinbeck would be very proud of present-day Monterey, California. I know his desire for a day when he'd be just a stone's throw from shops like Count Fudgula's Castle and As Seen On TV was the subject of much of his writing, and it's nice to know someone on the board of tourism was listening.)
Today, in San Francisco, I was stopped by two different police officers. First, at the Fisherman's Wharf (More edible soup bowls, please!) I was given a citation by The Joke Police (he even had an ID badge). Later, while trying to take an illegal left turn off Fillmore, I was stopped by another police officer who was considerably less "jokey." (He raped me.)
Also, unrelated, something I wrote is available for reading online, at Fresh Yarn. It's called "The Annual Birthday Revue" and it is about my mother. Have fun.