I took another SLO pilgrimage this past weekend—this time for my buddy Chris’ 5th annual Tequila Party. We didn’t just drink tequila, Internet. We drank $1000 worth of really good tequila. You know what makes a really good margarita? Expensive tequila, fresh lime juice, and Triple Sec. Wow.
We also ate a complete lamb. The neighbors, I’m sure, were none-to-pleased when Chris and Co. rolled up with The Trailer Spit and parked it, with the full carcass, in the driveway and began roasting. But sometimes, that’s how you get it done. If they could have tasted the lamb, they would have totally forgiven us. Delish.
I know, I know. Lately, all I’ve been writing about is SLO and cycling. This has blog has taken the slow sad decline from a true blog--with genuine thoughts and shit! -- to pictures of my friends and our crazy, very grown-up ideas. Oh yeah—and the occasional post where I rip on Lance Armstrong and dissect the Tour. I don’t know—I just haven’t felt super inspired to write—really write. The ideas just aren’t flowing at the moment. I almost wrote a post about how Orange County has way too many people and too much concrete, but that’s a little like pointing out that the ocean here is cold. I chose to move here, after all, so bitching about the lack of open space just doesn’t seem quite fair. But in case anyone’s curious—yes. That’s how I feel. I miss a lot of open space. That’s probably why I’ve been making so many SLO trips. I don’t breathe deeply and feel truly released until I’m driving north and hit Ventura. That’s about the point where the curvaceous hills overpower the amount of concrete-laden things, and the California coastline smacks you in the face with its raw beauty. Having lived in small-ish towns my whole life, I never appreciated un-developed land until now.*
Having said all that, I'm not complaining. I'm stoked to be back in Cal. I really am.
I’m heading to Miami next week for work, so maybe in some of my downtime I’ll write a true blog post and tell you how I think the world should be run. Ha ha. Most likely, some of my wacked-out thoughts will find themselves as tangible text.
*Sorry, dad. No offense against your life’s profession.