Friday night, Sunnyvale. Dave picks me up at the train station and drives me south and east through the wide, car-jammed streets of Sunnyvale, Cupertino, San Jose, Campbell, San Jose again. I'm lost. I don't know this part of the Bay Area at all. Way outside my normal turf. But Dave knows it. Dave lives somewhere down here in the flatlands and strip malls and sprawl of suburbia. Even in the daytime I'm disoriented. At night, I have no idea where I am.
I've been promised sushi with country music. We pull into a strip mall. Unexpectedly, there is a large Japanese restaurant stuck in among the grocery and office supply stores. Koroshiya is waiting at a table. "Bella Lucia," she says with satisfaction. "You're here at last." We order enormous bento boxes. I decide not to order sushi. I am not generally a picky eater, but I'm finicky about the freshness of fish, and I have a theory: any restaurant that puts sushi in little boats is bound to have second rate fish. My theory is confirmed after I taste my not entirely thawed tuna sashimi. However, everything else is excellent, particularly the lightly applied batter of the tempura, and there is country music, and hanging out with my friends after a tough week so I'm completely happy.
Koroshiya and Dave want dessert, and I am willing to go along if not to eat any. I've blown my caloric intake for the day on Asahi beer and chicken teriyaki, so I watch them eat ice cream and listen to the hilarious songs the Coldstone Creamery servers sing anytime someone tips them. To get here we've driven 20 minutes through...San Jose? Campbell? I'm miles from any known landmarks. I wonder what it would be like to move here from another country. What would a stranger think about these long avenues with no trees and endless malls? Would it look like the American dream or would it be overwhelming? I feel a little depressed anywhere in the world where things are either too crowded or stretched too thin. The servers sing a song about tips again, and we leave.
My companions decide to drive me home so Koroshiya can work on my camera, which was her camera until she sold it to me. I've been having trouble downloading photos, getting all kinds of crazy error messages. She determines the camera itself is fine, so she wants to test the cable and software at my house. She and Dave proceed to update our operating system from 9.0 to 9.2 (including an intermediary upgrade to 9.1 and maybe one other). She helps John figure some stuff out with our new USB hub. I walk the dog who is a little worried about all this laughing and carrying on. The cats think having visitors is really neat.
The Geek Twins insist on downloading the latest version of iTunes for me, though I was perfectly happy with the first version. CDs of mp3s are pressed into my trembling hand so I can upgrade my brain from the mid-90s to modern stuff like Placebo and Weezer and Radiohead, none of which I've heard because I don't listen to the radio or hang out with the right people. I tell the assassin I don't know how I can ever repay her free and comprehensive tech support. Then I remember we're going to Las Vegas in May, so to her glee I promise to take her to the Star Trek Experience at the Hilton. A discussion of Star Trek movies ensues. John and Koroshiya remember them all, Dave remembers most of them, and I can only remember the bad ones. Koroshiya also finds a cache of extra memory that's been unavailable because the wrong thing was suppressed or turned on or something. Everything moves faster now.
Except me, because I am fading fast. Once I finally relax I lose my command of speech, the ability to remain upright, and any semblence of intelligence. My tech support team head out into the night, doubtless to continue the Friday night fun. Everyone here falls asleep within minutes, like Sleeping Beauty's castle.
Saturday morning when John wakes me up I tell him my dream of living in a house made out of Pez and serving fried chicken to Faith Hill at a party. In my dream Faith is married to Alan Jackson and they have six blonde children. I am horrified to hear myself telling them how much I miss Nashville. They think that's just swell, and for a while we have a conversation about the Green Hills Mall and how much nicer everyone is in Tennessee, but the dream starts to fall apart as the utter wrongness of that sentiment disturbs my sleep. It ends with me and Faith singing impromptu harmony in a stairwell somewhere in the Pez house.
Sushi and country music: mix carefully at own risk.
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