"Here's Lookin' at you, Kid."

Sorry I've been away for so long. I meant to write and tell you, but I was caught up living life.

How was the world while I was gone? A lot of people in Chicago think that it is the world, and everything else revolves around them. Hipsters and Yuppies seem to think this, and they are All-Knowing.

I was away in Northern California for a week at the end of June, and I hate to say this Chicago, but I fell in love. The Spanish roofs, the bright sun, the laid back atmosphere. For once, I really felt like I was welcomed and that I belonged. I didn't feel like a pair of eyes were watching me; judging me because I didn't dress like a Banana Republic Mannequin.

Instead, I got warm smiles and even "hellos" from complete strangers. The one Starbucks by Bianchi Rd had a really cute Punk Rock girl who didn't look like she was dressed up by Hot Topic and wanted to slit her wrists. She smiled too, as she handed me my Green Tea Frappucino.

It was hella good.

Highway 101 was a nice ride. Now I know the greatness Mike Ness speaks about.

The journey to the East Bay was wonderful. The traffic was pretty gruesome at 2PM when we hit the Berkeley area. My heart lit up when I saw the Gilman Street exit like William Wordsworth gets orgasms whenever he fantasizes about nature. Because I have the greatest cousins in the world, we took a stopover at 924 Gilman Street: Ground Zero for the Bay Area Punk Scene. No shows that night, but if I were religious, I'd compare this feeling to setting foot in Jerusalem.

I haven't been the same since.

The East Bay was absolutely stunning. 21 years since I've set foot on it; and I can't say I remembered much. That didn't matter because I was able to make room and absorb new memories to take back with me to Chicago. Fisherman's Wharf, Pier 39, The Wax Museum... just a little spec of the city which left me wanting more.

San Francisco, we have unfinished business. I also was very unsuccessfully in my quest for the beautiful Emily Whitehurst. After all, she's the ass-kick-off-the-couch for me to start a band. Oh to be 21 again.

I'm liking 28 just fine. She too has aged gracefully.

Her middle name is Grace. Fuck, I sound like a stalker.

My soundtrack didn't wander much, but was completely necessary. There was something about my iTunes shuffling through Rancid, Green Day, Op Ivy and Social Distortion that made it all the more perfect. Obviously, these are California bands, but to be driving around town with these bands blasting through your headphones, the feeling can't be described. Though I've never tried smoking a cigarette, bong or a blunt, it was probably a feeling equivalent to that first hit.

Nirvana.

So Chicago, though I still have some love and respect for you; your wonderful architecture, lake, hard-working citizens (yes, there are these despite the abundance of douchebags), Northern California has stolen my heart.

Though I have not set foot in Southern California this time around, and that's where I hear things get really fake and weird.

And that San Diego cops are the most racist cops out there. But their nights are goregous.

Can't we all just get along?

But don't worry, I'm not leaving just yet. Oh, one thing I noticed that you two have in common is that no matter where you go in the US, Wal-Mart is a sponge for each city's White Trash. For once during the trip, I thought I was back home.