Here we are in the lovely little village of 26,209 ft above Modesto on a JetBlue flight back home. Today has nothing significant to report (assuming the flight is as boring as I hope it will be), so I'll stick with Friday. (Boomerang is playing "June Bugs," so I'll periodically be taking a break from writing this to laugh my head off at some random Bugs Bunny cartoon. I hope you'll pardon me.)
In the morning, we had been thinking of going up to San Francisco proper to wander around the Presidio and the Golden Gate, but by the time we'd popped up an exit to have breakfast at "Country Way" and made it back to the Courtyard, we knew we were in no shape to do anything but vegetate. So we got some change and took a pile of whiffy clothes to the Guest Laundry ... and I used the opportunity to slide into my bathing suit and go for a swim.
That was actually a big deal for me. I should explain here that once upon I time I was quite the swimmer. In fact, I was on a local swim team -- I was the least winningest member of the team, in fact I was rotten, but I DID do a lot of swimming nonetheless. Later on I was a little less awful on a diving team for a few years. Unfortunately, about the time I went off to college, I just stopped having handy opportunities to hit the pool. I would estimate that it had been something approaching 20 years since I actually went for a swim. A couple of AnthroCons ago, after I'd lost enough weight to not look like a beached whale, I picked up a new swimsuit with the intention of taking advantage of hotel pools -- but in actual practice this hasn't been too successful, or even successful at all. Cons are just too busy. But as we'd resolved to lurk around the hotel all day doing nothing anyway, there was no stopping me.
(It ended up that I couldn't concentrate on the plane, too many Bugs Bunny cartoons to steal my attention. So the rest of this is being written on Sunday.)
As evening approached approached on Friday, we dressed and piled into the Thirsty Escape to zoom on out to Half Moon Bay. If you are ever in the vicinity of the Moss Beach Distillery, I highly recommend it, particularly at sunset. (Just be prepared for sticker shock -- it's a pricey place.) We had allowed time for traffic but ended up an hour early, so we popped up the street to pour more
Introductions were made all around, and we went into the restaurant to see if Kerry was in the bar ... no luck. So I left the group and stepped outside and called her, only to be informed that she'd been in the car stealing some Z's the whole time! Properly chagrined, I repaired to the bar to watch "the ghost" move the hanging lamps around, and within a few moments Kerry had joined us, followed a few minutes later by Makovette, and it was time for dinner and a scenic sunset. I had a toast all worked out, but never got to deliver it -- Mako announced that Scott Kellogg had gotten a job, and so everybody toasted that instead (and my toast seemed a bit anticlimactic after that). However, I did manage to head the check off at the pass by pretending to be headed for the restroom. So the check got to the table, Kerry and Level Head made dives for it, and people started forking over cash. When I got back, I nonchalantly signed the credit card slip that had already been run and got dirty looks from everybody. (Heeheehee!) What's the point of having knocked myself out working all this time, if I can't spoil people with it, after all?
Thus it was that we said farewell to Moss Beach, and reluctantly so in my case. Of all the places I've been on the west coast, Moss Beach is the one place where I'd really like to stay if I ever managed to become independently wealthy (or at least making a living off my own work rather than depending on a job). If the writing ever pans out ... well ... maybe. (Most of California, while very nice for a visit, is too barren for my tastes, brown grass and small clusters of scrub under an enormous, looming sky ... Moss Beach is cozy, wooded, and has that whole stormswept rocky coastline thing going on. Set me up with a gothic Victorian manor, and you'd have The Gneech in His Natural Habitat.)
From there we toddled off to a Starbucks in Pacifica to be regaled with Lady Anne's tales of employee incentive programs and inept Kaiser Permanente medics, in return for which I dashed off a quick sketch to give her. Then it was back to Casa de Ethernet in hopes of finding some copies of Tough Breaks for me to sign ... but no luck. Le sigh! So Laurie and I said our good-nights to one and all, and made our bleary-eyed way back to the hotel, with the realization that our vacation was for all intents and purposes over but the shouting. But that was okay ... it had been a very good time -- but it would also be very good to get home again.
Saturday morning was nothing to write home about, so I won't. Hotel breakfast, returning the Thirsty Escape to its rightful owners, and wandering around Oakland airport to kill time before the flight pretty much sums it up. Then we were on the plane and watching Bugs Bunny, so now you're caught up. The last thing we did "on vacation" was to go have dinner at Olive Garden, finishing it up by splurging on a tiramisu. Mmmmmm ... tiramiiiissuuuu...
Today, we do laundry and try to get at least a little back into the swing of east coast time. California Trip 2005 is now but a happy memory!
And I have only a handful of weeks to prepare for AnthroCon. 0.o