Being the designated driver isn’t such a bad gig. Anna (not pictured) was even kind enough to tack an Oreo Shake onto the order for me.
This last weekend my family and I partook in our last real tradition: Christmas. December 24th and 25th run like clockwork in our family and have since 1987.
The dance starts at about ten in the morning Christmas Eve when our nuclear family begins the process of arriving two hours late to our father’s sister’s house in La Honda and ends with someone driving Bobbo back to Morgan Hill from my mother’s sister’s house Christmas night.
There are some substitutions and free periods but the bullet points have remained the same for the past quarter of a century:
• Christmas Eve breakfast at home, father’s side gift wrapping
• Christmas Eve hors d’oeuvre & dinner at Aunt Clair’s / father’s side gift exchange
• Return home / place cookies & milk / sleep
• Christmas Morning in at home, stockings / Santa & parent’s gifts / 1st breakfast / coffee
• Wrap / pack Mother’s side gifts
• 2nd breakfast at Aunt Lavenia’s / Mother’s side gift exchange
• Return home / consolidate gifts / nap
• Return to Aunt Lavenia’s / Christmas Dinner / Dessert.
I’ll let you read all about Leah on her own blog but for now just have a look at this. It’s tough our there for a blogger to do their own stuff when everyone else seems to just be re-posting whatever they fancy. And I like to see someone who doesn’t just click all the Zemanta links and call it a day.
Self-portraits are always tricky. Most of the time I’m just guessing with the focus and other times I can pick a spot to focus back to, which is a reliably un-reliable method so I wind up just guessing.
These were taken on a somewhat tough day for me, so I decided to get pics. Vanity aside, photos of happy things are boring. I had a look at the “The 45 Most Powerful Images Of 2011” the other day and I’ll save you a click, they’re not a cheery bunch. Even the photos of good stuff are a little morbid at their core.
This day, a couple of bad breaks and some bad luck on the part of some friends of mine had me feeling a little down and out. Naturally I went on a bike ride to try and shake it off, which brought me to a couple of places that I reliably gravitate towards when I’m in that kind of mood. One is a place with a lot of memories and the other is the ocean. I’m a firm believer in time travel, not in the literal sense but in the mental sense, which is at least as powerful and doesn’t stir up any nasty causality issues.
Being somewhere that held significance at one time means that you’ve got three out of the four dimensions that humans understand in common with your former self. As they say, three out four? That ain’t bad… (Nobody says that.)
Praise is a nice girl that I met on the street. She and her friends had the expressions of people who were lost. I have a fairly good working knowledge of San Francisco; I felt like I might be of assistance so I took it upon myself to ask them what they were looking for.
Her and her two friends had finished attending church for the day and were not in fact lost but rather looking for a place to eat. I almost passed out with excitement. It was all I could do not to throw them over my shoulder and carry them but with a little restraint on my part and a little trust and faith on their part we genteelly walked the two or three blocks to Ike’s Place where I deposited them safely in line after a quick photo op.
The story of how Carrie and I met is hilarious, so it’s a shame that I’m not going to tell it right now. It’s not scandalous or long or even a secret; I just don’t feel like it. (But seriously, it’s really funny.)
What I do feel like talking about is sleep. I love sleep more than anyone else I know loves sleep. I’ll sleep almost an entire day away and my only regret might be that I didn’t sleep the whole day. This makes the circumstances under which this photo was taken somewhat ironic. Carrie and I agreed that the best time for me to come over and do this photo shoot for her baking blog was very early in the morning. I have a tough time waking up in the very early morning and to boot she lives an hour away. Solution? Do not sleep the night before and drive up at five in the morning.
While on paper this seems like a great idea in practice it leads to all sorts of issues, like loading film wrong or hating each other.
It turned out that these problems were only temporary and that we wound up with a bunch of great stuff which is presently gracing the pages of her blog – where, by the way, you can actually buy the things that she bakes to eat at home. Last time I checked my friend Mike has a standing order with her for little pies every month. He seems to enjoy them.
I need to check my tables or get a reading or something because a string of bad luck has befallen me as of late. Not to say that I believe in luck, because I don’t really, but that’s what someone who did believe in luck might say.
The worst thing I could do would be to wallow in it so here’s a little piece of good luck – the woman sitting next to me at breakfast the other day happened to be a model / actress and was incredibly gracious and obliging when asked if I may photograph her. That’s lucky, right?
Cassandra has a website if your interested in seeing what she looks like when she’s not being hassled by strangers at brunch.
Cody and I, up before the sun. With the help of a timed exposure and a small book to prop up the camera (books, good for something finally, am I right?) we were able to give the scene the appearance of having quite a bit more light than there was.
Today I woke up pleasantly surprised that it was only noon. The clock on my wall across the room is set an hour fast since I haven’t bothered to reset it since Daylight Savings Time ended a month or so ago so I was especially proud of myself since I had actually woken up by eleven, which is still technically morning. Good day. Regretfully the illusion didn’t last. When I wiped the sleep from my eyes and afforded myself a closer look it turned out that the clock was actually reading four o’clock in the afternoon, which is to say that I had really “only” slept in until three in the afternoon, which doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.