It’s Sunday. I’m getting a latte from Pete’s because Guerrilla Café is full.
I’m getting ready for church, when I realize I would rather go write and work out some things in the “quiet” of a coffee shop.
It’s Saturday. I’m hiking Tomales Point Trail in the fog. The tule elk are so close that the buck (buck?) worries over his 20 wives as we pass. Our friends from New York confirm for me that it is an exhausting town. I confirm to myself that I have no desire to live there. We talk about art and theater and design and selling out. Later we will get two pizzas from Cheeseboard and watch Men In Black on tv. This is what is called juxtaposition. Joey borrows The Watchmen.
It’s Friday. A.C.T.’s executive director resigns. Our down-to-earth marketing copywriter informs us that she is moving to Paris to be with her boyfriend. It is as romantic as it sounds.
It’s Tuesday. I go out to beautiful dive bar in North Beach that sells cheese and crackers for $5 to celebrate our assistant graphic designer, whose last day is Thursday. He begins classes for an Architecture degree on Friday. I say, “I’ll stay for one beer,” but he wants to do a shot of some drink I’d never heard of called frenet. It’s rude to let a man do a shot alone. I stay for four hours. When I get home, I create a Full Tilt Poker account, watch a few hands, and decide it moves faster than I am comfortable with.
It’s Monday. I’m playing hookie from work to take our friend Travis around San Francisco. We eat Mexican food in the Mission. Go up to Twin Peaks and watch the fog come in around us. Sit on the cold beach, not fully believing that the this is the Pacific Ocean. Walk around Golden Gate Park by the archery and then the conservatory of flowers. Go to the museum of dead arcade and ¢25 machines on Fisherman’s Warf. Get fried chicken and cheap beer and watch part of the Cardinals game at Hard Knox Café on Third. Rachel and I decide to get married in St. Louis.
It’s Sunday. We’re hiking Sky Trail at Point Reyes. We talk about Rachel’s thesis. It will somehow focus on consumer psychology and the typography of books (“But not electronic books”). We talk about how I can make some money on the side of my day job at the theater. They try to convince me I’m better at poker than I am. We talk about Travis’s well-paying but dissatisfying job in Boston and figure out his future (which, we try to convince him, should involve moving to Berkeley). Rachel and I decide to get married in California.
It’s Saturday. Travis and I drive around Berkeley, Richmond, El Cerrito, and Emeryville in search of the director’s cut of The Watchmen. We find it at Best Buy, but it’s in some stupid looking case designed to look like the head of one of the characters. I buy Super Smash Brothers for the Wii instead. Barnes & Noble has one copy of The Watchmen left. It is in a normal looking case.
It’s Friday. Travis arrives.
It’s the Sunday before, and Rachel and I arrive home after driving from SFO, after waiting for a shuttle to the carpark, after flying home from Boston in front of a spoiled screaming kicking brat, after driving from the middle of Vermont where we just said goodbye to the newly minted husband and wife and the friends we hadn’t seen in 3 years and will likely not see until our wedding next summer. We try to convince them all that the Berkeley is the new Boston, where they all currently reside. When we are waiting for our bags, I eavesdrop on a woman who did not want to be having the conversation she was having on a cell phone at baggage claim. “What? Why are you calling? What’s changed from last night? Have you changed? No. No . . . ” Sad poetry.
It is 2am Sunday morning, and we decide to play poker again. One of the bride’s relatives shows us how to light a fart. He does this 4 times. The last time, I honestly think his testicles are at risk. We stop playing at 4am. I win 9 bucks. Rachel, who didn’t play but shuffled the second deck for us and watched my hands, now knows I rarely bluff.
It’s Saturday late. We are all drunk and dancing in a barn. Julia is still in her wedding dress. Rachel and I have changed into jeans after I spill the last of the single malt on her dress. The band left 4 hours ago, and the families have gone to bed. It is just the young people dancing around an ipod and speakers.
It is Saturday afternoon. Julia and Dave get married by a pond near a converted barn near Langrove Inn in the middle of Vermont.
It is Friday and Travis is driving us from Boston to Vermont. We pass a small shack with a sign that says “Smokin’ Bowls.” We giggle sophmorically. On the way back on Sunday, we see two people standing by the still-smoldering ashes where this hut had stood.
It’s Tuesday, two weeks before. I shave my goatee and moustache, which I have had since the summer before junior year of high school. I pick Rachel up from the airport (whom I have had since midway through senior year of high school) and she doesn’t recognize me at first.
It’s Sunday, two weeks before that. My sister and her boyfriend visit us. We take them around Berkeley. She takes pictures. I realize that I still have this goatee and moustache, which I originally grew to scare her when she got back from camp. I wonder if it might be time for a change.
It is the month of July. We have friends and family and the future on our mind. Where should we get married? When? How can we afford it? How can we afford to start a family? Do we want to start a family so far away from the people closest to us? When the time comes to make some decisions, are we really going to be willing to give up Berkeley and the Bay Area?