Date: 26 Aug 1996

HooWah!

It was a SFDB eve! Conspicuous consumption of beverages alcoholic!

Kate & I left Napa in the early P.M. for The City. Found our accomodations. Headed for North Beach. San Francisco Brewing Company. A few IPAs later, it was across the street to Chinatown. Sully looking for the hole-in-the-wall that sold firecrackers. Then it was to "The Stinking Rose," which serves primarily Garlic laden foods of many variety (they claim to serve 3,000 lbs. of garlic a month). They season their garlic with food. For starters, a pan of roasted garlic in extra virgin olive oil (Bagna Caulda, for those in the know). To spread on bread. Washed down with copious quantities of Chianti. Garlic Caesar Salad and Garlic Potato Soup. Chianti. Garlic Lamb Ravioli. Garlic Jumbo Prawns. More Chianti. Then we got into the Garlic Relish, which had garlic in it. We passed on the Garlic Ice Cream. I kept looking for Curried Garlic.

We got to Sondra's at what? 8? Were we reeking at that point, S? First to show, last to leave, that's our motto. No sooner do we make a move to get into the alcohol, the guests began to arrive. Not a one gets the password right, that is until Gonzo rings up with "Open up, ya Bastards!" Suddenly, S's apt. was awash with DBs. Jimbone, Vadim, good drinkers. Yuri showed up with Al, pre-blitzed, excellent.

Naturally we set up shop in the kitchen, close to the fridge, Al demonstrating the proper way to take the cap off the Shaker, pouring Cosmos at a blistering pace. Kamikazi with a bit of Cranberry? Working on Sierra Nevada Pale Ales. I recall several supremely garlic laden belches. Kate continuing on the Red Wine. Each arrival brought more alcohol, which was reverently greeted with "WooHoo!" Gonz, it was Firesign Theater, not Python. You'll have to pick up your cues faster. And they must be dry by now. Why don't you take them out of the cellophane before they scorch!

(One conversation overheard in Kitchen)

[Somebody (was it Karen?)]: So, are you a drunken bastard?
[Kate]: No, I'm just married to one.
[Somebody]: Same thing.

What time did Al kick us out? The hell with that, we're Drunken Bastards, there's alcohol left, what's the rush? Don't piss me off, or I'll break wind in your general direction, and I don't think any of us want that now, Ok? Finally Kate prevailed (You're drunk, you bastard, we're the last ones here, now let's go for a walk), so we did a final survey of the wreckage, said drunken goodbyes, and staggered to the B&B. Never wear a watch. I got no idea what time it was, other than Dark-thirty.

Stopped by Sondra's at 10 a.m. Intercom must have been broken. Hungover? Naah, still drunk. Roll down the windows; we ate a helluva lot of garlic last night. Stopped at Costco for Beer, Bailey's and Marg mixer.

[Kate]: What do you think about Margaritas?
[Sully]: Ok. (I'm never in a mood to argue with that kind of logic.)

-Sully
(Pullman in Oktober?)