Thank You, San Francisco

This is a momentous post, friends and K-bors. Yesterday I dropped the hanging folder labeled "San Francisco" into the "Past" drawer of the file cabinet that is my life. With sights set on the Middle West, the Fisher King and I let 'er loose for SoCal. I sit now in the spot where it all began: Mudd-Blaisdell Dormitory, Pomona College, Claremont, California. It's possible the funny-looking freshman boy whose pictures are everywhere will be a little upset when he comes home and finds me posting from his computer, but it's nice to return to my roots.

There are so many San Francisco people I leave behind that I'd like to thank. On the short list: Mr. Aaron Goldsmith, for being the best roommate that the occasional sexual favor can buy; Katie Morton, also a great roomie (tolerant of me) and considerably less easy than the aforementioned; Nancy Bombard, best aunt ever; Julian Bombard, my coolest cousin (and he's going on 11, ladies); Biffy, the friendliest Russian I know; A. Cassel, we wasted too much time, but it was still great (I'm wearing a New Trier East t-shirt right now); Team P.A. - 'Bone I'll see you soon, J not long after that; Anna Lindberg, the greatest Bones player of all time to never actually win a game (stay warm, friend); Tebbets, you missed most of the show, but I suppose rebuilding the Third World is a worthy cause; Mike, undoubtedly my best friend under 5'7"; Remi, the Frenchest of my San Friends, with whom I frequented the hip-hop show circuit; Volberding, I'm holding you personally responsible for my general lethargy, 'cause I didn't really exercised after you left (and I continue to argue that you should hop on up to Chicago from Indy); Lily, I didn't talk in a really high voice after you left, and I miss it :) LD Ward, you may say you hated it but we had some good times. If I forgot you.... well, the truth is I probably didn't forget you it's just that I don't like you that much.

Now, back to the issue at hand. My trusted companion and I retrace the steps of Raoul Duke and his unfortunately Samoan lawyer beginning tonight at sundown. From the bright lights of the City of Sin, we will cut through the overpoliced passes of Utah - a state that really ought to be given back to the Native Americans; put the damn Mormons on reservations. When we emerge from the dark night in that darkest of states, tattered and torn, we push on through to Denver before finally taking our next rest stop.

It's a hard life, that of the road traveller, but the King and I carry our burden with grace. We're veterans of the game - like Snoop and Dre, if you will. We enjoy the Festivities. We ride the Wave. We feel the Vibes. We are. Driving.