Back in the ancient days of 2009, I packed my 96 Jeep Cherokee with my belongings and left San Francisco to pursue my music career in Los Angeles. Leaving the city and home that stole my heart forever was an arduous goodbye more difficult than any breakup or loss I had yet to face. I departed at a point when I had an urge to seek more with my talents; excusing my exit with the idea that my life and routine in the 7×7 square mile’d city had hit a brick wall of redundancy.
San Francisco was in my rearview with the thought that I had grown tired and complacent with the luxuries and enjoyments it offers. I felt as if my 22-year-old self wasn’t fulfilling enough passions via drunken dive bar nights, Mission District house parties and Dolores Park blackouts.
Years later, living knee deep in the music career I left home to pursue, I find myself constantly returning back to the San Francisco Bay Area to rekindle the excitement, debauchery and peace that I chose to leave in 2010. Almost monthly I find myself needing to escape the ongoing networking and self promoting lifestyle of pursuing a passion in Los Angeles; to return home to enjoy some of the simpler things California has to offer.
I feel as if the California lifestyle is one that a lot of us try to tap into for the sake of whatever it is we Californians create. We make mood boards full of palm trees, beautiful women and bright lights to encompass how we live and how we want the world to see us. But as a man that considers all of California his home, I find holes in most of this mindset. I find that there are missing pieces to a lot of our California bravados created by the simple fact that we fail to showcase the plethora of facets this great state has to offer.
Being well-versed in Bay Area and Southern California living is important to me. It’s what makes me who I am. It’s what makes me who I’ll be. It’s what makes what I make.
Sometimes clocking out from the ongoing repetition of shaking hands and discussing my work itinerary over expensive cocktails is necessary. For this DIY, neurotic sociopath, that means taking the 6 hour drive up the I-5 North to San Francisco to indulge in a world where it’s not so much about what cool guy party you went to... but instead what cool guy party you didn’t go to.
Had myself a little weekend getaway to Frisco for the Fourth to celebrate the freedom you all watch me flourish amongst.
Ate some boomers and sipped vino on Crissy Field…
One of my favorite past times of being in Frisco is the simple fact that 80% of my time is NOT spent in a vehicle in traffic. Walking is a simple pleasure in life.
Nothing is more craze than Frisco on the Fourth of July. Years ago I unfortunately watched an M80 destroy a girl’s hand that happened to be a drummer. I’ve watched fireworks iller than any sanctioned event happen in the middle of the street in front of the police station. I’ve watch the drunkest of drunks get sloppier than ever.
This Fourth of July was no different. We posse’d up at a house party on Harrison and 24th… It’s all a blur from there.
Shout out to the PDA on the side of the house.
The following day was spent detoxing by eating more trippy thangs and sipping more wine in Marin County at Lake Lagunitas. Easily one of the illest days I’ve ever had. Some great escape type shit.
LeAnn Rimes. Alexander Spits.
The last night in town was spent raging at Edinburg Castle. This spot used to be kinda frowned upon by all the homies as being the corny hipster spot. Wait… dammit… I guess it still is.
Somewhere in the internet I think there’s a photo of THSF’s manager Dorian Hood having the ultimate turn up moment shirtless in the middle of this dancefloor. Get your lurk on.
After a long weekend of nibbling on shrooms and sipping liquor… It’s time to get back to work.