I don’t ever want to live here again, but there was definitely a certain excitement driving from the airport to my hotel. It was cool but comfortable. I think it’s the Pacific. I felt it as we landed, when I opened my eyes, looked out the window and saw we were skimming over the bay. It came back again while driving from the airport to the hotel as we hit the stretch of 101 just before Candlestick (or whatever bs name they now have for it) Park. Still, that was enough to open my senses, take me from exhaustion to excitement and curiosity. I am an ocean boy and even the poor third cousin that is San Francisco bay brings back feelings I haven’t had for a while. Idaho is beautiful, but I miss the ocean. I miss the smell of salt air and fish-whiz, or whatever the combination is that you just can’t get by tossing some kosher salt in a pot of water. More precisely, I’m a Pacific Ocean boy. 2.5 weeks in Manhattan, Easter on Long Island, those had no affect on me. Knowing the Pacific is just beyond that bay, just over the ridge? Wow! I’m stuck in yet another hotel, but for the time being, I feel like I am home.
Wow — what a fancy hotel: douche bonnets and a scale so that I can watch my weight go up up up. Yay! I didn’t get my free tickets, by the way.
Yay! And look at this, happy shampoo!
Where’s the angry conditioner and the morose shampoo? I don’t know if I can use my bathroom for anything other than bathing; the toilet paper’s just too pretty in its little pink bow!
I’m definitely back in the west. Gargoyles give way to cow skulls.
What else? Well, assuming I am still with the Borg, I may be heading to either Ottawa or Germany shortly. Could be fun. Much more pleasant than Bogota. Oh well, nothing to do but watch some Futurama.
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