YYZ –> ORD –> SFO

I can’t fully explain it, but I’ve always had this lingering feeling that I was meant to be a Californian. I did have a childhood filled with Beach Boys records, car shows and surf movies, but I feel it’s not just because of that. I guess it’s kinda like how someone who is trans genuinely feels like they should be the opposite sex, fun body parts and all. Wifey and I decided we should celebrate the 3 years of our monogamy with a California adventure.

Possibly the most appropriate song for the trip.

Toronto can be pretty sometimes. So can Chicago.

After being nuts to butts in airports, airplanes, the BART and buses, we found our apartment for the week.

Fuck the Holiday Inn.

And then proceeded to get my fat on at a food truck jamboree in our hood. If all of my future meals came from a truck, I wouldn’t be mad.

I made a friend, who quickly bailed when he figured out I wasn’t giving up my chicken & donuts.

The next day consisted of me being an annoying skate sport tourist.

These red bricks were a mecca in ’93

Just out the frame of this photo, there’s a fisherman letting a Stingray die on the pier.

Met up with some of Wifey’s friends from SF, had some of the best pizza I’ve ever ate, and got shithoused at Molotov’s. Apparently I also had a delicous tamale from SF’s infamous Tamale Lady…