WHAT I DID ON MY CHRISTMAS VACATION (A very bizarre report by me!)

WHAT I DID ON MY CHRISTMAS VACATION (a very bizarre report by me!)
San Francisco: It's long been known as the city of Rice A Roni, cable cars and really really gay people. But because it also is the world's cheapest plane ticket from LA and never gets covered in snow, I decided to make it my Christmas mini-vacation destination.

For four days, from Dec. 26-30, I jetted up to the city to see just what a "San Francisco treat" really entails. Thanks to the wonderful folks at http://www.cheaptickets.com/ (yes, this is a shameless plug hoping for even better future deals!) I wound up getting a round-trip ticket, three nights in the historic-status Hotel Whitcomb, and round trip Super Shuttle from the San Fran airport, all for just $401. I decided to make it a Christmas gift to me (awwwww.)

Well, my Christmas Eve really sucked. I spent it alone because my family is in another state, except for the aunt in Sherman Oaks who had begged me to stick around and spend it with her. Then she decided to have me come over Christmas Day, not Eve, and Christmas Eve is like the one night a year when you absolutely, positively can't call people to ask to come over. They're already miserable enough with their own families without the extra grief of allowing you to come over. So i did some pre-trip research and went to see "Milk."

Contrary to what you might think, it's not a documentary about cows or the dairy industry. Rather, it's the biopic of a guy named Harvey Milk, who was the first openly gay man ever to be elected to office in America, before getting shot down in cold blood by a Christian fellow councilman who got off for the killing without a sentence because he claimed he had eaten too many Twinkies and went insane on a sugar high. (If that isn't reason to watch what you let your kids eat, I don't know what is! Moms, hide your Ho Hos!) I always thought that "the Twinkie defense" meant that that guy had testified he killed Milk after yelling out "Take that, you Twinkie!" So the movie was pretty educational. Sean Penn was terrific in it, except the whole time his voice sounded like an even more effeminate Mr. Rogers of "Mr. Rogers Neighborhood" (if that's even possible). No matter how angry he got, or seductive, or whatever, Penn sounded like he was offering chocolate chip cookies to 2nd graders. He also kissed guys a lot, so if that bugs you, watch out. I still say Mickey Rourke deserves the Oscar for "The Wrestler," though.

At any rate, my hotel was indeed classic in style, with huge chandeliers in the lobby and a fancy doorman and bellman in full uniform, but the room was a little small and the bathroom was riDONKulous! Sitting on the toilet required yoga positioning that nearly exceeded my physical capabilities, and there was no tub - just a shower so tiny I had to fold into even further pretzel positions to scrub down.

On the plus side - for me, anyway - was that while the hotel was on the major thoroughfare of Market Street, which includes all the most glamorous stores in the city, the Hotel Whitcomb is about four long blocks AWAY from those glamorous stores. In fact, it's precariously close to the most skanky and questionable part of the city, called The Tenderloin, not due to its great steaks but due to the fact that young hookers of both sexes offer up their tender vittles to customers near there. THAT'S not the fun part; the fun part for me, since I'm a magnet for daily-life danger, was that one night when i woke up starving at 3 a.m., the front desk told me no one would deliver food that late but that i could "make a run for Carl's Jr. a block or so away." Sounded innocent enough. But i quickly came to realize when the guy said "Make a run for it," he meant it! The two-block journey to hamburger-land involved what i like to call a Human Video Game: having to run, jump, dodge, bob and weave my way around sleeping bums and incredibly aggressive panhandlers like I was playing a real-life game of "Frogger."

When I finally made it to Carl's Jr., I was treated to what apparently was the first night ever on the register for the male Filipino running it, as he kept swiping the debit card of the guy in front of me so many times that the guy finally said, "Dammit, if this burger combo winds up costing me $350 instead of $7.50, it's gonna be on YOUR ass!" I tried hard not to laugh, but that was quality comedy for 3 a.m. on a Friday. Meanwhile, some other badass came in, looking like Huggy Bear from "Starsky and Hutch" in a beanie cap, black leather jacket and pimp-daddy shoes from 1973. He apparently thought he WAS Carl's Jr. because he acted like he owned the place, belligerently asking other bums who were there long before him what they were doing and when they ignored him or gave unsatisfactory answers, he'd yell "Suck my d***!"

He kept ranting angrily about how much of that activity was going on, apparently "everyone" is doing it to him because he's so badass. I just put on my hoodie and prayed he wouldn't start talking to me. It was a lot of stress to go through just to eat a Guacamole Burger, is all I'm saying.

On a more pleasant note, the rest of my stay in San Fran was absolutely fantastic, amazing, and yes, even FABULOUS!!! I got to my hotel at about 11 a.m. on Friday and hit the streets in search of a good tour a couple hours later. Now, you might think i'd take a bay tour on a boat, or hop a bus tour, but instead of a city bus tour i decided on literally spur of the moment (15 minutes before departure) to plunk down 50 bucks to be taken to the Muir Woods an hour out of town. Why there? Because they're one of the prime homes of the redwoods, trees so mindbogglingly tall, beautiful and old that they literally should serve as a case-closed argument for a Divine Creator of Earth and the Universe. It was cold, foggy and half the bus was composed of a tour group of Mexican fourth graders (literally from Mexico) but it was still one of the most amazing sights of my life. (I'm trying to upload my pix, but don't know how here. Anyone who can help advise, please write me at Carlk@pasadenaweekly.com. )

The next day, I engaged in the highlight of my trip: renting a GoCar. Now, i haven't driven in 5 1/2 years, and San Francisco is pretty much a suicidal place to start trying. It's home to 47 hills, and we're talking HILLS. Lance Armstrong probably couldn't bike these babies! Not to mention twists, turns and fast-paced traffic. So this could have been scary. Yet surprisingly, it wasn't.

The GoCar is a new technology only available in San Diego, San Fran and Miami so far - in which the three-wheeled vehicle (two in front, one in back) operates like a motorcycle, with hand brakes and acceleration and no use of feet - which was just as well because the thing is smaller than a Volkswagen Beetle and my legs kept going numb from being jammed inside. It goes up to 35 mph and has a GPS system in which a hot-sounding chick not only tells you where to go, but also narrates explanations of everything.

The downsides - which are quickly forgotten due to the amazing upsides of the thing, which looks like a modernized version of the motorcycle sidecars that Nazis used to drive in WWII movies - are that I felt I dislocated my left hip getting in and out and was almost certain a tore a ligament in my right knee (thankfully, neither actually happened). My hands were practically frostbitten from the fact I had no gloves on amid cold December air and no roof - the lack of roof also meaning i had to wear a ridiculous helmet the whole time that made me look like a very portly Speed Racer. (Again, there are photos, but i need someone to help me figure out how!) But it was exciting and liberating to drive, especially on Lombard Street - the world's windiest with eight immediate sharp turns in one block.

Sure, I'll admit I was shrieking the whole way down, but people were laughing and it helped distract me from the fact that my arms felt they were about to be ripped clean out of their sockets from holding the brakes so hard. Despite all that (or maybe because of the sheer thrill of it) I recommend it wholeheartedly!!

That night, I packed my night with two more "Yes Man"-style decisions. I'd learned that the incomparable '60s soul singer Darlene Love (who worked with Phil Spector on many songs, including the ultimate pop Christmas song, "Baby Please Come Home". I've grown up watching her on the Letterman show nearly every year since she started singing that song on his show the night before Christmas Eve each year since 1986, and there she has a gospel choir, a small orchestra, the house band and Paul Shaffer impeccably performing the song's vital piano riffs. I remembered Letterman saying "if you're in San Francisco, see her through Jan. 7 at the Rrazz Room," so bam - he told me to go and i went.

Darlene was performing without a choir and orchestra, but had '70s/'80s soul singer Melba Moore (I know, who??) open for her and Melba was surprisingly good - plus they both shared a TIGHT five piece band with drums, two horns, a guitarist and bassist that blasted right through countless covers from the era when women could really truly sing their guts out in a song. I was easily the youngest person in the room, as i was surrounded by middle-aged and older married couples and countless ecstatic gay guys (who run like Pavlov's dogs to any show featuring a diva like Love).

The show kicked off with a Love-Moore duet on "Heat Wave," which reminded me of the late great Sweeney Sisters lounge-act sketches on "SNL" in the '80s because these ladies came ready to WORK it! Love then left Moore to her own devices for awhile, which was mostly mediocre stuff, except Moore did a brassy interpretation of "The Long and Winding Road" in which she held the final note, Whitney-style, for at least 20 seconds at the end, leading to thunderous applause and yet another standing ovation from the gays in the crowd.

But that was nothing compared to the rapturous response Love got when she took the stage again. As she burst through a succession of '60s songs, I felt like I was in the super-cheesy audience of one of those PBS pledge-drive specials where a bunch of '60s acts are shown singing their ancient one or two-hit wonders. She tore through "He's a Rebel," "Da Doo Ron Ron," and "Today I Met the Boy I'm Gonna Marry" before finally doing Tina Turner's "River Deep Mountain High" with such earth-shaking intensity I didn't even realize she didn't sing any Christmas songs the entire time. How heartbreaking. But still a masterful display of vocal power!

I then hopped a cab for yet another destination: Cobb's Comedy Club, a huge and respected venue where my current favorite comic on earth, Patton Oswalt, was headlining. The line literally wrapped around the block, which was perfect for the sharpest comic mind in the country - who went on to deconstruct both the Christmas holidays and religion itself in such a funny fashion that I couldn't help laughing, even though I'm Catholic and Oswalt's an atheist. That's a strong show!

Sunday, I hopped into an old '20s jalopy to take Mr. Toad's Wild Tour, which had a very funny tour guide named Patrick taking us around the city in a classic car that had had its engine converted to biodiesel. The driver let me be his sidekick, which basically covered for the fact i was the only solo traveler, but that was still preferable to the multitude of restaurants and other tours whose initial response to my "party of one" requests was "WHAT?! Really?!" Ah, nothing like being made to feel comfortable on vacation, eh?
So among the things I learned from the Mr. Toad tour are:
The city's Washington Square is actually a triangle of land, and features a statue of Ben Franklin rather than George Washington. But then again, this city's so gay, why should they bother to even get their FACTS straight, right?

Many houses with garages were built in the '20s, with the garages added in the '50s.

Steve McQueen's "Bullitt" character lived in an apartment at Clay and Taylor, directly across from the VJ Market.

Grace Cathedral has a labyrinth inside for no reason that our driver could figure out. You can take a free tour of it, though, and I suppose ask the guide yourself.

To be a member of the city's lavish Pacific Union Club, you must be male and Republican. And I bet, in denial. (Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, baby!)

Chinatown is home to 180,000 Chinese. They have no front yards there. So kids play in parks in other neighborhoods.

The Fairmont Hotel was where Kim Novak's residence was in my all-time choice for greatest movie ever: "Vertigo."

The Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory (I have a photo, which will be posted soon!) is the one place that makes ALL the fortune cookies for the many Chinese restaurants in Chinatown. It's a tiny space that looks like a sweatshop, with 4 old women constantly stuffing fortunes into cookies coming off an assembly line apparatus as an old Chinese guy yells at them. I took a picture of that too, will be up soon i hope!

The third weekend in May, the Beta Breakers race is a 7 mile race through town which people can choose to run nude. (Look out Frisco, here i come! Don't worry i'm personal training first.)

Panhandle Park is an actual city park that had such a staggering concentration of bums, that that's where the word "panhandler" came from. The worldwide word for bums - amazing! (Don't you feel mentally enriched now?!)

SF city law says a house can't be painted more than 5 colors on the outside. (That actually USED to be a problem!)

The Grateful Dead used to live at 810 Ashbury.

Golden Gate Park is 3 1/2 miles long, which makes it bigger than NYC's Central Park even though SF is a mile smaller (7 miles rather than 8 miles).

The Presidio - former military base - rents its houses nowadays for $8,000 a month. But hey - you get 5 BR, 2 1/2 BA and an actual yard - a great rarity in SF! You're also paying for actual easy parking, and for having trees around.

SF only has 3 cemeteries inside it, at least one of which is ancient and defunct and another one which is for pets. But a small town called Coma (pop. 1,400) 10 miles south of SF has mor than 1.5 million people buried there so far from the city, prompting its city slogan "It's good to be alive in Coma."

The Golden Gate Bridge takes 4 years to paint. It's painted International Orange, not Gold. It got its name by being named "the gateway to gold" during the Gold Rush.

There are great white sharks swimming off Baker Beach, which is clothing optional. I guess people go nude there if they want to make dinner a little easier for the sharks. ************************************************************************************Enough Enough about the city, though...Well, actually, one last thing before i detail my epic battle with a bowlful of crab cioppino. Despite taking 4 or 5 different tours there (I also went to Alcatraz at NIGHT - scary!), I realized at 4 p.m. my last day there - 4 hours before my ride to the SF airport! - that no tour had shown even a sliver of the gay part of town. How can you go to SF and not see the gay part? Unless it's ALL the gay part and you just don't know it?!

So i asked a tour driver why and he said everyone's still scared of freaking out midwestern tourists who might freak out if their kid sees two guys holding hands or kissing. But as a grown man who had already survived a screening of "Milk" just the other day, I was prepared for it! I decided to hop a cab and simply ask the driver "Take me to the gayest part of town!" Which i did, and the driver said "you mean the Castro, right?" I didn't know if that was a code word so i said "Just the gayest part. I only have four hours."

Which made it sound like i was looking for one last miracle lovefest, even though i'm straight. So the driver took me down the world's most convoluted collection of backstreets and wound up dropping me off right across the street from the Castro Theater! And guess what they were showing that night? No, not "Brokeback Mountain" or a porno, but "The Sing Along Sound of Music." Complete with a costume contest!!! If THAT wasn't the gayest thing to do on a Monday night in SF, i don't know what was! And applying my "yes man" principle, i slapped down $15 to go watch it! I've never seen so many guys dressed as nuns or Maria Von Trapp in one place in my life! And others dressed in lederhosen! More than 1400 people singing as if it was their one shot on the "American Idol" auditions - LOUD being the operative word here- to some of the catchiest songs in movie history. With events like that, it's no wonder I would love to move there.