On the Road in California

The City by the Bay

I was born in the Bay Area of California. I haven't revisited the area for a very long time as we moved from there at the end of 1970. I returned a couple of times on business trips, but like all business trips you really don't get to see much except the inside of an airplane, the inside of a taxi, the inside of a hotel room, and the inside of a meeting room. So when the opportunity arose to tour the Bay Area and Southern California on a week long series of seminars, I gladly accepted. There were some shenanigans to be worked in between gigs and it promised to be worth the go. I could see more than the inside of meeting rooms.

I was among a group from work to present our latest release of software, and was billed first every day. I spoke from 9 to 10 every morning, then got to sit around until noon when the event concluded and was then mobbed with questions from the audience. There were three other speakers, partners of my company who make add-on solutions to the core product. After day one I made my hour more interactive. I discovered people were mostly there to get a free breakfast and get one or two questions answered, and rather than listen as I spoke, they daydreamed until the Q&A section. Then they would ask about something I went over ad nauseum during the demo. Fortunately, everyone was clear and understandable when they asked their questions. It used to be I would present to very technical people, there were always some non-Engrish speaking fellows in the crowd who would always have a bunch of questions. I would have to ask them to repeat the question several times and I would still not make out what they were asking. I got some sage advice from a colleague who worked for IBM that helped out tremendously. When you can't understand the question, you say, "What a great question, but you know, it's a little beyond the scope of today's presentation, so let's take that off line and talk about it after." Then after you're done, you pack up your shit as fast as you can and make tracks before they can hunt you down.

The first day was in Milpitas, California which is in Silicone Valley near San Jose. We would be making our way down to the other Silicon Valley, Southern California ( where the silicone is implanted in the robot-women that live down there), in a day or so, but we had the Bay Area to tackle first. The routine was get up, do our gig, then 7 of us would pile into a huge SUV, the kind that are detectable by satelites in orbit, driven by our fearless leader, the orchestrator of the whole boondogle, Alex. Alex is a big amiable guy with a quick wit and boyish good looks. He may be the whitest guy you would ever want to meet. Which is why it surprised me greatly when he insisted on listening to vile, loud, booming, bass enhanced hip hop music in the SUV. I took a position in the very back of the bus hoping to escape the "music" but, the auto manufacturer saw fit to include speakers in the back as well.

We took the 101 up north to San Francisco. I was born in Oakland (East Bay) and lived in San Mateo, which is between San Jose and San Francisco. I have put a lot of miles in up and down the 101. They have done some work on it, but many parts still resound with the thunka-thunka on the tires that I remember. As stated earlier, it had been a very long time since I had been this way, and my memories are mostly from when I was a 10 year old girl. But when we passed Moffett Field, a Naval Air Base, I was thrilled to see Hangar One still standing proudly.

Moffett Field's Hangar One was built during the depression for the USS Macon, an airship built and operated by the U.S Navy. The row of WWII blimp hangars are still some of the largest unsupported structures in the country. Hangar One's floor covers eight acres and can accommodate 10 football fields. The building has aerodynamic architecture, and its walls curve upward and inward, to form an elongated dome 198 feet high. The clam-shell doors were designed to reduce turbulence when the Macon moved in and out on windy days. The interior is so large that fog sometimes forms near the ceiling! Anyone unaccustomed to its vastness is susceptible to optical disorientation. Looking across its deck, planes and tractors look like toys. Along its length maintenance shops, inspection laboratories and offices help keep the hangar busy. Looking up, a network of catwalks for access to all parts of the structure can be seen. Two elevators meet near the top, allowing maintenance personnel to get to the top quickly and easily. Of course I never saw any of this, I only got to see it driving by on the way to or from wherever my parents were taking me. I am sure they had tours of the thing by the 1960's, but my folks couldn't be bothered. There is an aviation museum there I would very much like to visit, and now on my list of things to do in this life is to return to the Bay Area as strictly a tourist.

As a child though, not to villianize my parents too much, we did at one point get to tour the USS Midway. But that was an aircraft carrier and my father approved of that type of thing as he was a Navy veteran and former sailor.

San Francisco is just as exciting as I remember it, except with more urine. Being a liberal, groovy kind of place, home to legions of flower children in the Summer of Love, 1969, the homeless are in abundance, tolerated and therefore very aggressive. The streets are steep and narrow and the people living there really do walk, resulting in great glutes. After arriving, we checked in to the Donatello, a posh hotel on the corner of Macon and Post. We got a screamin rate and Alex boasted that the SF Giants stay here. I wondered why a local sports team would need to stay in a hotel. Don't they live there? But, what do I know about sports? The gang started talking sports at many times in the trip and my eyes would glaze over and I would think about how cold it would be to dive in San Francisco Bay, or what was for dinner that evening. At one point they were talking about some athlete and how he was practically built for his sport (swimming, I think) and I asked who it was they were talking about. Vic, one of our partners who had come down from Canada for the trip, was incredulous and thought I must live under a rock. I just don't pay any attention to sports of any kind with the exception of diving, and I mean of the SCUBA type. There aren't any real celebrity SCUBA divers, with the exception of the Cousteaus, and there's just so much you can get excited about there. Wow, that Jacques really hung in there. Did you know his boat was called The Calypso? People just don't get jazzed en masse about the bottom of the ocean. There's no SCUBA Super Bowl, and you don't see guys sitting around on the weekend drinking beer, eating chicken wings and watching PBS specials about the ocean wearing the wetsuit of their favorite diver.

So I was odd man out there, until they started talking about fancy cars. Then I was even more glazed over.

We decided on sushi for lunch. I would have been equally thrilled if they said we were going out for dog food for lunch. But, the majority rules so off I went for Bay Area Sushi. Chris, another partner who had come from Denver, was my only ally on the anti-sushi front. We were outnumbered. We were told of a place up Post Street, and when I say up, I mean up. We hoofed it on a steep incline for a couple of blocks, and I have no idea how Rachel, the only other female in the group, managed with the high heels.

The sushi place was small and very San Francisco like. We sat at the bar and I needed instructions on how to go about ordering. I decided to try the sushi, as I had never eaten it thinking that raw seafood is really just fishbait. I think Chris stayed on the safe side and ordered teriyaki and I went wild and ordered a combo plate of three pieces of sushi and some deep fried veggies and shrimp. As long as it's breaded and deep fried, I'm okay with it. The food looked wonderful, the presentation very nice, but I ended up letting my fishies swim to other people's plates at the end of the day.

The others made their way back to the hotel to get ready for our tour of Giants Stadium and I took off looking for a Walgreens to buy a few personal items I neglected to pack. I had asked the bellman at the hotel where the nearest Walgreens was and he pointed out the door and said just up ther street. When he said that I assumed (!) Mason Street, aka, the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. I can't believe cars without four wheel drive can even get up these streets. I mean, San Francisco was built before the days of the Silver Spade excavator and the leveling of hills. So the streets are verticle. I hoofed it up to the top of Mason and was completely out of breath. I am in pretty good shape too. I hiked rim to river back to rim at the Grand Canyon in one day. I cried, but I did it. This was grueling. All for some Secret anti-persperant. Crap. The drugstore wasn't there after all. I came back down Mason and turned back on to Post and went that way. Still no store. I ended up ducking into a local general store and bought some Secret that had probably been on the shelf for 15 years. But at this point I was desperate. I was working up quite the sweat and things were at critical mass so I caved and took what I could get.

Ira, one of our partners, knows a lot of people. One of his connections is a PR guy for the San Francisco Giants. He managed to get us a private behind the scenes tour of Giants Stadium. I have already mentioned how excited I am about sports, but I went along because it was a go and what else did I have to do? I could have wandered down to the Castro and looked at the gay people. But I've seen gay people and have never been in a men's locker room. Fine line, I know, so I chose Giants Stadium.

What can I tell you. It was a stadium. We got to go behind the scenes then out on the field. The best part was when it was over and we got to go to Fisherman's Wharf for dinner. Of course it was a seafood restaurant, so screwed again and not in that fun spanky way. I almost didn't order anything, but I gave in and got a pasta dish that was quite good.

After dinner I was beat and ready to hang out in my posh room at the Donatello. Some of the others opted to continue partying and the reports the next morning consisted of some lively moments in an Irish pub involving male cross dressers and an altercation with a homeless man.

After the meeting, and I'll spare the gory details of a software workshop, we were treated to dimsum, which I like considerably better than sushi. We walked quite a distance to what was once a main post office in San Fran and is now some sort of inner city food court. I thought it was a heck of a schlep to go to the food court, but there was a real restaurant in there that did a dim sum brunch. After that we headed to the San Jose Airport where we were in high hopes of getting on an earlier flight. Greg, one of our team, managed to get to the counter fast and hopped the next flight. Southwest Airlines is a lot like riding a bus in the air. An Air Bus. Hmmm, must be the thought behind the hardware. Anyway, these were garden variety 727 aircraft and me, Alex, Ira, and Chris had to wait until 8:55pm for our flight as our 7:00 was cancelled because of some mechanical failure, and I suspect, low passenger count. Adam, the Southern California sales rep was going to meet us in Orange County the next day and Rachel, the Northern California sales rep departed back to Phoenix.

We arrived at SNA and got our next gigantic SUV and headed to the Hilton. When we got there we were pretty punchy and the desk clerk told me they were upgrading my room to a suite with a hide-a-bed. I started laughing and looked at the clerk and said that sounds like a punishment. Why don't I take the dually out back and use the little tin shack with the crescent moon on it for the toilet? I mean honestly, a hide-a-bed? I took the room and it was luxurious, with the exception of grammas hide-a-bed. There was a formal dining table for 8 people, full kitchen, huge flat screen TV. I would have traded it for a comfy bed.

We did our gig at the Hilton, took lots of pictures and were off to Beverly Hills. Hollywood wasn't far and I organized a little safari later that evening up Sunset Boulevard. I thought Adam would get a kick out the the Guitar Center flagship store and the "Rock Walk". Then we could hoof it down to the Whisky -a-go-go where many legendary bands, such as The Doors, got their start. We hired a car to take us there and no shit, it must have taken him a half hour to drive us four blocks. The traffic was bad, but the driver was worse. I don't think he really knew you could press the gas pedal and let go the brake. He dropped us off, took our $40 and told us to call him when we were ready to come back. We looked at all the famous rock star hand prints in cement then went in the store. I made for the acoustic section as I prefer to play the acoustic guitar and thus sought out my favorite brand, The Ovation. All they had was the cheap made in Korea models and I was disappointed. So I played a couple of them then the boys came back and we looked at the classic electric models ranging in price from $2k to $90k. I got them to stand in from the the guitar wall as if they were rock stars with attitude rather than the gaggle of nerds they really are. We left and I said the Whisky was just up the street, let's go. We walked. And walked. And walked walked walked. Finally Greg asked, "Where in the hell is this place?" I pulled the address out of my pocket and told him. He looked at the address where we were and he said it was 14 more blocks. I sheepishly looked at him and shrugged. You're talking to a hiker. We then flagged a cab and were dropped off in front of the infamous Whisky a go-go. I was grinning ear to ear but the guys were trying to get away from there as fast as they could. I was ready to go in and Greg said he'd like to get something to eat before drinking any alcohol. We walked up the street a little and and found Frankie and Johnnys Famous Pizza. While having pizza and listening to a no less than hilarious story of an internet date gone awry by one of the guys, I was informed of their reluctance to go into the Whisky. I said I knew we didn't really fit in but I didn't care and I was told that it's "different" for woman. The indication was that as men, they would be seen as not belonging there by the multi-pierced/tattoed crowd that was there and would therefore end up legs up in the dumpters out back.

My Name is Hollywood

So instead of the boys risking an ass-whooping at the Whisky A G0-G0, we sauntered across the street to pay a visit to the Hustler Superstore. It's an adult store based on Hustler Magazine and so you can guess what the inventory consists of.

At one point we wandered into the area where you must be over 18 to go in to. There was a plethora of DVD's, some of which I would pick up and ask the guys, "Gee, what's this one about?" Then there was the Wall of Toys. BOB's in every size, shape, and color you can imagine. For those of you wondering, BOB stands for Battery Operated Boyfriend. Unlike most men, they are very reliable, however they don't converse well and they'll never get the dinner check (but then again, the same can be said for many men as well). But in a way it is liberating to know that they will never call or e-mail you either. That frees you up to do other things besides staring at your Blackberry. I picked out a hot pink one and told the guys that I was going to buy it and use it as my laser pointer tomorrow for the presentation. The smart ass remarks continued and we were in a heap on the floor. Laughing to the point of tears, and the sad part was we were acting like teenagers yukking it up and there were people around seriously shopping. I wanted the guys to stand in front of the Wall of Toys so I could get a photo as I did at Guitar Center with them in front of the classic guitars. They bolted from the area before I could get any incriminating shots. Actually, I respected the fact we were all working mates and only took one photo, and that was out front of Jenna Jameson's handprints. There was a porno walk much like the Rock Walk and the Walk of Fame on Hollywood Blvd. Adam pointed to Jameson's handprints and said, "Those are some nasty hands."

After the Hustler store we headed to another hang out called The Red Rock (or something like that). Adam and Ira had one drink and decided to head back to the hotel. Chris, Greg and I decided to stay and get shit-faced. Some very pretty Hollywood type girls came in and Chris zeroed in on them and even coaxed one into dancing with him. I don't remember a whole lot after that, except that I was told later that none of us knew where we were staying when we had to tell the cabbie where to take us. I think Greg text messaged Adam to ask what hotel we were at.

The next thing I know my phone is ringing and it's time to head to the conference center. I am of course still in my jammies, have no recollection of how I got into them and don't care to think about it. But, I was in my own room, alone, all my ID and things were there and I was really really disastrously late. I felt like my head was in a vice grip. I am notorious for never suffering hangovers, but this was the exception. I was a hammerhead. I didn't have time to shower, barely time to brush my teeth, I just pulled on the first professional looking outfit available, threw the rest in my bags and headed out the door. I knew I looked as bad as I felt. I rushed to the SUV which was loaded and ready to go, they were waiting for me. Hells bells. This was gonna be good. Ira asked, "So, how ya feeling today, Hollywood". Smart ass. Then Alex took to pounding the rap music at full volume and I offered him $1000 to shut the radio off. He told me he couldn't hear me because the radio was too loud.

We got to the venue, I was all business, got it set up and was on at 9 am. I put my game face on and was bubbly, cheerful, informative and receptive to questions. I was "on".Once I was through, I packed up my stuff, went in back where no one could see me and passed out. Much to my chagrin, it wasn't over. We were to go straight to the taping of the Tonight Show starring Jay Leno right after we finished up the seminar. My head was about to explode and to top it off I was getting a sore throat. We parked at a restaurant across the street as NBC studios doesn't provide for visitor parking. We had gotten VIP tickets from one of our partners who does some acting on the side. He's played in many television shows and movies in bit parts and supporting roles. We stopped in at the restaurant and had a bite to eat. I was still feeling pretty rotten and desperately wanted a shower and a bottle of Advil. Chris told me a Bloody Mary would help, so I had one. I didn't drink it all. It helped a little, but not as much as someone shooting me to put me out of my misery would have. As of this writing I have yet to touch another drink of alcohol.

The Tonight Show was fun. I could tell they've done this before. Jay Leno came out ahead of time and told everyone what to expect, to please laugh, especially during the monologue, and just have a good time.

After the show we finally went to our hotel. Our partner, Daniel, invited us over to his house that evening rather than going out to dinner somewhere and we were happy to go. We went to the hotel first and I can say I have rarely enjoyed a grooming experience so much, even after a three day camping trip. I changed my clothes, got lots of fluids in me, lots of Advil in me and went to meet the guys again. Daniel had a beautiful home in North Hollywood with a huge flat screen television and a nice dog.

The next day went without incident and we were once again at the airport awaiting a flight. Flying out of John Wayne airport in Orange County is always a treat. The main runway, at 5,701 feet is one of the shortest of any major airport in the United States, resulting in most passenger aircraft operating from the airport to be no larger than the Boeing 757. Because of the rich people living here, the area that lies directly South of John Wayne Airport is considered a noise sensitive area. The short primary runway, coupled with the local noise restrictions, can require a takeoff at or near full power (95-97% power). Some aircraft operating from the airport may cycle to full power while holding at the runway then release the brakes when engines are fully spooled up. So basically, the pilot just peels out making for an exciting takeoff. On operations from this runway a steep climb may also be required to allow for a power reduction at about 500-700 feet above ground level for quieter overflight over the city of Newport Beach. I know someone who lives in Newport Beach and I am glad he isn't being disturbed by the noisy commercial aircraft from SNA.

And that was my trip to California. Next stop, I believe, is gong to be a foray deep in the heart of Texas!

Until next time, that's all from The ScubaJedi.

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