Not Too Long Ago, In San Diego

Nick G, Brian Y, and Guillermo sitting on the beach. (Here, the part of Guillermo is being played here by a small, black, bag.)

We all sat on the beach and alternately read and slept. Nick was reading Edgar Allen Poe, I was reading Transmetropolitan, and I forgot what Brian was reading.

I made a friend on the beach; a seagull that I named, "Beakface."

I later played capoeira in the sand. (I learned that handstands and cartwheels are much more difficult to perform in wet sand.) I also waded into the water, getting the bottom of my jeans wet. It was all part of my master plan to completely distinguish myself as a tourist.

I miss San Diego. I miss Spider Jerusalem.

I miss Beakface.



Later, in Anaheim, as we waited grimly for the shuttle that would transport us magically to the happiest place on Earth.

And by "magically" I mean by an old ex-Marine who asked me if I was in the military. It's a bit unsettling how the older soldiers are able to spot others who have been in the armed forces. It's particularly unsettling for me, given my not-so-spotless standing with the United States Army.

But that's Brian, Nick, a small, black, bag, and Shea. (Here, the part of the small, black, bag is being played by Guillermo.)

And, for no other reason than because she mentioned that she had seen my blog and thought it was "weird," here's a picture of Morgan:



Now who's "weird?!"

"Caw! Caw!"

You said it, Beakface!