Designated Driver
Getting a California driver's license was months in the making. I took the written test and the driving test in May, and today I got mail from DMV. It is true, what Claypool sings: I've been to hell/They spell it/They spell it "DMV."
Riding both sides of the fence. Boo-yaa!
I Just Want To Ride Bikes With You
Mike's Bikes guys were doing a photo shoot on Valencia when I happened to walk by (the shop is where I got the bad-ass Bad Boy) and recognized somebody from the store. They wanted to get shots of people riding bikes (that guy's a model, or an MB staffer) on Valencia St, which is a main bike drag in the Mission, but it wasn't as easy as you'd think.
"So, where are all the bikers on Valencia when you need them?"
On The Road
Yeah, that's the title of a tedious book by some guy who used to get drunk at the Vesuvio. I went up north with Sampo, along the coast, just to get out of the city and catch some views, and while didn't feel like writing a novel about it, did take some pics. We were looking for this national state park, the Armstrong Redwood whatever? Fucking couldn't be found! Fine.
Trees! All these fucking trees!
(So that's where the national park should have been, according to Google Maps. Pfft. Photo by Sampo.)
California. Can't take it.
So I'm going to drown myself.
People chilling at the beach, not minding the dead guy.
Nor-Cal Domination.