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Boys Will Be Boys08/27/03 My friend Mark called last week. “We’re going to San Francisco Friday with Courtney.” A trip to The City sounded innocent enough, but Mark has a knack for pulling my ear whenever he dreams up mischief requiring my involvement. I decided to play grown up and explore the issue. “What’s in the city?” I probed. “Everything’s in the city. But WE are going sailing on the Bay in Courtney’s new MacGregor 26.” That, too, sounded promising. I took a mental moment to calculate what my wife would extract in return for a few hours of unaccompanied husbandry pleasure. “What else should I know? I inquired. “You don’t trust me?” “Nope.” An impish cackle filled my ear. “Wise man. We’ll sail all day, anchor at the marina next to Pac Bell Park, eat an expensive dinner, drink a lot, take our seats at 7:00 p.m. sharp a few rows above home plate for the Giant’s-Marlin’s game, and spend the night on the boat! No kids or wives. Does it get better than that?”
“How am I going to sell this to Carol?” I asked. “She’s barely over that all-male bonding extravaganza you talked me into taking in Courtney’s plane to Mexico last fall.” “What was wrong with Mexico?” Mark asked with feigned innocence. “Let’s see,” I answered. “A lovely resort that wasn’t, ice on the wings, an emergency landing, phones that didn’t work so I couldn’t call home. Rat droppings on my sheets. And if I recall correctly, we ended up in Las Vegas three days later unsure how we got there.” “Most of that was Courtney’s doing,” he scoffed. “Besides, it was your decision to tell her everything! Didn’t we all make it back alive? Now quit whining!” he ordered. “I have a plan.” He also has a very vivid imagination. Still, two days in SF had a lot of upside and warranted exploration. “Ok, I am all ears,” I replied hopefully. “Good. Listen carefully. You wrote a column last April about traveling for Easter to Empire Mine State Historic Site in Grass Valley, right?” “Yeah. So?” “So? You are slipping, pal. Do the same thing for San Francisco! Tell her you really don’t want to go overnight, but the trip is so you can write a column for the paper.” “Mark, there is no way she will buy that! Besides, what would I write about?” Heavy sigh. “Man I am worried about you! Should write it for you, too? We have people moving here from all over the country, right? Tell her you are going to remind them that the Bay is less than two hours away from EDH. The view is breathtaking, and there is a LOT to do.” He hesitated a moment. “Take Alcatraz, for example.” He quickly added, “Of course, we are not going there.” “But I have never been to Alcatraz,” I interjected. “So what! Just write about it! Make something up. The City is jammed with great restaurants. Pac Bell park is fantastic!” “I haven’t been to Pac Bell Park either, ” I began meekly before he cut me off again. “You’ve lived here for three years and have not seen the Giants in the Park! It’s clean, safe, and there’s not a bad seat in the house. And unlike dumpy old Candlestick, the weather is usually decent. I love taking my boys there. And there’s Fisherman’s Wharf, the ships, museums, musicals. It’s all so close.” Sure it is, but hauling a large boat to the Bay with Courtney and Mark for two days of male debauchery with no parental supervision was going to be a difficult sell. “Ok,” I mumbled. “I’ll ask.” Bribery and ardent spousal begging followed, with a promise to write something for the Telegraph related to the trip. Carol blessed the outing. Plentiful opportunities for mischief notwithstanding, the trip went off without a hitch. But the piper was waiting this morning in the form of a note taped to the coffee pot: “Honey, don’t forget you have to pen something creative about San Francisco.” [smiley face.] Hmm. . . I have an idea about how to do just that. |
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