Day Zero, Continued

The location of the Howard Johnson Express Inn in San Mateo is outrageous. The Convention Center is a 10-minute walk away over flat terrain. The motel is within 3 blocks of a Long's Drugs, a Safeway, an Albertson's, and a really good pizza parlor. I am used to ethnically diverse restaurants in Honolulu, but even I was impressed to find South Indian Vegetarian, Peruvian, and Malaysian restaurants, as well as a number of Chinese and Mexican places, an "English" pub, and 2 sushi shops. And others I've forgotten, alas. The corner store seemed to be stocked heavily with hard liquor and staffed by large guys yelling in Serbo-Croatian.

I walked a bit farther on. I saw the Russian Supermarket.

If you are in an intimate relationship with someone from the former Soviet Union, your eyes, like mine, will light up at the words "Russian Supermarket." I bought 8 cans of Riga sprats, a package of Turkish coffee, and a bar of Moscow chocolate laced with cognac.

Then I discovered the used bookstore and got another copy of The Secret Life of Salvador Dali, What Would We Do Without Us? by Kenneth Patchen (his paintings), and a 19th-century play about Cardinal Richelieu.

The location of the Expo Center having been definitely ascertained, the fun was over for the day. I spent the rest of it highlighting fucking outlines, drinking instant coffee, and feeling knots tighten in my stomach.

Thus the day before the Big One (cut to medium shot of Fred Sanford clutching hand to heart)-- In other words: Day One.