Feelin' San Franfrisky

Orin & Lynae

My recent trip to San Francisco was so good I had a hard time condensing it into one post.

Photo-bombing bridge. Photo by Orin Zebest

In past trips to SF I've stayed at the Chez Poulet, a warehouse converted into a community performance space by showman, activist and bullshit impresario Chicken John in the Latino/hipster Mission district. He's been something of a mentor to me in my journey through the weird, and kind enough to offer up his teardrop trailer nested in a loft above the stage at the warehouse when I've been in town. When I first staying there years ago Chez Poulet was also inhabited by a number of artists, some of whom are still dear friends to this day, but recently Chicken has cycled out the artists to renovate the place. I crashed there when I visited this January, but it was cold and lonely in that big drafty warehouse, so I was very pleased that my bonkers friends Orin and Lynae volunteered to host me on this trip. Lynae actually orchestrated my visit, really.

Most Likely to Cause an Argument

I first met these crazy kids at Camp Tipsy -- where we build boats out of rubbish and dreams – in the summer of 2012. I showed up on Monday to help set up for the weekend event and Orin was the only other person on-site apart from Chicken, who was running back and forth from SF to our lakeside location somewhere outside of Sacramento. This Orin guy, he was *weird*, and that's saying something coming from me. But I'm a social gal, and he seemed harmless enough, so I strung my camping hammock up near Orin's tent and we spent the next few days sorting through all manner of dumpster-dived materials. It was a bonding experience, and by Thursday Orin and I commandeered a leaky old dingy from the pile, flipped it upside-down, filled it with empty milk cartons and screwed plastic seats to the top. (“The Crafty Oarsman” was a delightfully ineffectual vessel.) Orin's a pretty laid-back guy, and apparently I spent a fair amount of time shouting at him during this process. After observing our construction antics from the shore, our weekend neighbors made up an award just for us: “Boat Most Likely to Cause an Argument.”

Lynae, with her purple hair and “adora-troll” ways, came along later that weekend, but I didn't really get to know her until my last trip to SF. I was going through a pretty tough time. She and Orin (among others) were instrumental in my sanity maintenance.

No, we always dress like this.

On my first full day in SF this time around – the day before Halloween – we piled into their pickup truck and cruised around town. When we showed up for a by-donationwalking tour of Chinatown the retiree guide asked us if we were gearing up for “the holiday”. Nope, we informed him, we always dress like this. Afterwards they took me where the buffalo roam in Golden Gate Park, got photo-bombed by some famous bridge outside the Legion of Honor museum, ate Japanese ice cream crepes, visited an aquarium shop run by the mafia and saw the Yoda fountain at the Industrial Lights and Magic campus.

Crimebo & Lynae

After a year in the Montana wilderness I was ready to get my Halloween freak on San Francisco style. When I found out that our Halloween plans were to help some friends out with their family-friendly block party across the bay in Richmond, I was initially a little disappointed. Upon our arrival my disappointment soon dissipated, and I had a wonderful time manning the face-painting booth with Lynae et al. Richmond is not known as the best of neighborhoods, but there was no trouble at all and the families that attended seemed grateful and excited for the karaoke, ring-toss, balloon animals by L.A.'s Crimebo the Clown, Lego Jeep, temporary tattoo booth and prizes galore. It was great to be a part of the freaky cavalcade that came out from SF to put this on. It's never every day you get to see Sasquatch, Hera, Dracula and
a giant chicken belt out 80s classics. The afterparty was terrific too – it was a bunch of the cool kids from SF that I'd have wanted to hang with, except there was no “doof-doof” music to shout over. I finally donned my “GroucHo Marx” costume and somehow managed not to get any greasepaint in the hot tub. Selah.

Christopher rocks the accordion

I feel like I crammed a month of experience into a week on this visit. Along the way I also got a personal accordion performance in Oakland, shopped for skis with Chicken John, picnicked in Dolores Park, got repeatedly creeped out by life-like sculptures lurking in alleyways, was complimented in the Tenderloin, ate plenty of super-delicious international food and took a ride in the TARDIS while in a hypnotic trance. 

Could it really be that good all the time if I lived there?