We play tour guides

[A busy weekend feels like it's finally over. John H.'s visit from Atlanta was exhausting but fun. John M. ("my John") and I felt the need to go full-tilt the entire time John H. was here, and we overdid it. John M. took Thursday and Friday off to show John H. the city, and I took Friday off as well. I'm afraid John H. thinks we all party too much; I had to assure him more than once that we really aren't this hardcore most of the time.]

[Thursday night, we went dancing at the Cat Club's 1984 night. Oooh, it'd been a long time since Book of Love and I met on a dance floor. John M. isn't great with the combination of crowds and too many cocktails, and left John H. and me behind to talk about him and many other things. It was good to get a fresh perspective on John M.'s past, and give John H. a few of my own ideas.]

[Friday, after stopping at In-n-Out Burger in Mill Valley, we went wine tasting and sightseeing up in Sonoma Valley. We wended our way over curvy roads in the heavy mist, trying to expose our Georgian friend to something besides white zinfandel. I gave my usual ten-cent spiel about Sonoma's importance in California history, and we gobbled lots of free cheese at Ledson in Kenwood and the Cheese Factory in downtown Sonoma. I made dinner at my parents' for Mom, Dad, Grandma, Annabelle, John and John. Lamb meatballs over pasta in cream sauce, broccoli, garlic bread, and free-flowing wine. Yum.]

[We even had a rousing political discussion, with half the table (actually, just Grandma and me) rebelling against the "elect Gore at any cost" sentiment which seemed to be permeating the room. Look, fellow liberal Californians: Gore will win in this here fine state, no matter what the last couple of days' headlines say. If you live in a swing state, by all means, vote for Gore. However, if you live here, or New York, vote for Nader and let's get the Green Party (whose agenda we actually agree with) on the ballot next time 'round by getting that magical 5%.]

[We didn't get back to S.F. 'til about 10:30PM, and John and John decided to go meet Leah, Gary, etc., at Martuni's. I'd had enough and went to bed. When I awoke, John M. was gently snoring in my ear. I got up, and Leah's friend Annie was asleep on our sofa, Leah and J.J. were snoring on our living room floor, and John H. was not receiving in our spare room with the door closed. Sounds like I missed quite a night.]

[The rest of Saturday was spent in quiet reflection. John H. and I may have stepped out to the Levi's flagship and Virgin mega-stores for a little touristy shopping, but we were quiet until the evening brought dinner at U-Lee and an evening with yet again too much drinking, this time South of Market.]

[The idea had been to try the Stud's Sugar club night. We dressed up a bit, paid out $7 cover (!), and realized we were totally out of place. I had heard that Sugar had a rather funky mix of different kinds of dance musics; however it turned out to be a miniature version of the generic circuit stuff played at places like Universe. Not our cuppa tea, so we explored all the nasty little bars that I used to love in this neighborhood. They, however, have never been John M.'s cuppa (which is why I almost never go), so we called the evening a wash, cut our losses, and went home.]

[Sunday we actually got out of the house in daylight. After an excellent-as-usual breakfast at Dottie's, we walked over to Deanna's in Chinatown, stroled past all the schlock on Grant, the other schlock on Columbus, and caught a cable car up to the Fairmont (Leah's special wonderland; she feels proprietary about the lobby renovation), then zipped down to the Mission on BART.]

[Some good thrift store and used bookshop trolling on Valencia brought us to La Rondalla, an ideal Mexican dive for a sunny Sunday afternoon. We sank into our red vinyl booths and gave the evil eye to the big table of Marina types who sat near us. We ate a big plate of Botana (which are kind of like, but really different from, nachos), and chatted. Somehow we dragged out exhausted asses home, for a quiet night of women rocking on Lifetime and the premiere of Sinead O'Connor's "Behind the Music."]

[So, if you come to San Francisco, forget the flowers in your hair. You've got the idea of the kind of tour John and I will give you. John H. flew back to Atlanta yesterday, tired but, I think, happy.]

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