and Loathing

Borrowed titles, but somehow fitting. faith is always one of those things that's either unshakable, or stands on very thin ice. or in this case, cheap stilettos. if you do fall into bracket two, the snapping of a heel, can signal the end. if a pilgrimage ends in disappointment, far less abject failure, the questions are a lot more profound. 
it's not like i travelled the 8000 miles or so between Delhi and San Francisco just to take a look at the hallowed portals of the O'Farrell Theatre; its just that i'd heard, from a source no less credible than Hunter Thompson, that it was the 'Carnegie Hall of public sex in America'.
Opened by the Mitchell brothers in 1969, the O'Farrell does have a formidable reputation. And since it was barely a ten-minute, downhill walk from where we were staying, my brown brother and i decided, whether we saw the golden gate or not, o'farrell, anthony bourdain's recommended torta cubanas, and the search for at least a couple of good drunks, was the plan of action. 
as it turned out, carnegie hall was having a slow saturday night. so we got in for a lot less than the normal 40 dollars a pop, but thats when the shit hit the fan. well, not really, but i just wanted to say that. 
so apart from the brown brothers (respectably turned out in shoes, jackets, etc, nervously placing folded hands over crotches to conceal potential, and potentially desirable hard-ons), there was one other group of gentlemen in the esteemed establishment, fellow travellers, only from farther east. at a ratio of about 1:6 (one guy to six girls, that is), things were not only looking up, they were also looking to get expensive. that was when bully, big titted brunette number one, disappointed, that neither the brother nor i wanted a little sucky-wucky (no, there was no offer of a lap dance, i suppose when the going gets tough, these ladies get down to business), asked us, "what are you going to do, go home and jack each other off?" Stunned silence followed that remark, as each of us tried in vain to come up with a suitably witty comeback that would have everyone in the place in splits, and the ladies so floored that they might even proffer their services for free. needless to say, that didn't happen.
the state of california of course, doesnt help. apparently you can't have nudity and alcohol in the same place. if the world followed those rules, some of us would never get laid. 
another brown brother often travels to phoenix for work, and i have been given to understand that life in that particular city, outside of another reputed establishment (this one by the name of centrefold), pretty much blows. "go to phoenix anytime, bro. ask for candy (name changed on request). tell her you are my friend. shell show you a good time." the strip joint has always seemed a great place to get a feel of the place, the times, the people, to fall in love even.
but then he always has been more endearing than me, so i didnt find a candy who fell in love with me. 
cut back to san francisco, and it was hard to imagine that this sober house of sin had once played host to binges, hunter and his friends, police raids, drugs, subversive cartoonists, fratricide even. perhaps our 21st century morals will actually put an end to all joys one day.


this is not out of any disrespect to the girls, who, almost to a fault, were beautiful. i dont think i have ever seen as much flawless skin in as many different shades under one roof before. but one hour and one (what i like to think was manly) hug to the last two showgirls of the evening, the ones who wanted us to come and play, left us with a feeling of emptiness. 
the pilgrimage over, the walk back to the apartment was more fulfilling. we had a bottle, and there were ridiculously naked hookers on the street, hanging around in the shadow between shops with neon signs. that was the america i was looking for. 
but like the brother said, the significance of the piligrimage lies in that it will never be forgotten, its impact, felt one day when you least expect it, its residue (pardon the pun), may reside in the turnups of your trousers, or the cupholder of your seat, forever, marking a time in history, a frame of mind, a shared experience, and showing the light for generations of pilgrims to follow. the brother has taken to ketamine of late.
i feel another trip coming up. the loathing may have past. maybe i was to immature to undertake the pilgrimage and realise its importance at the same time.