So, there's a dog howling across the courtyard. Lester is peeping, and the baby housefinches are being fed. The black cat (not Stinky) who sits in the green grass made friends with Mark and I recently. Prior to that we'd thought it was shy.
There are teenagers and women and young ladies in bikini's everywhere. I had my first more DC style street cat call the other day, and I'm certain the culprit was visiting from out of town. Anyway, Carlsbad is a California beach town, and we live in it. Mark and I discuss this very often and marvel at how strange it is--not the town, but the fact that we live here.
This is the conversation we had about it last night:
Mark: "Here I am, the endlessly hardworking east coast man."
Lorraine: "Here I am, the what."
~
Me gusta eso tambien. And it requries less savings than the finca.
~
A friend sent me this link. It's quite silly, in German with English subtitles.
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3 comments:
But you left out the part that we were sitting outside on a lovely beach town night, so that the incongruity of our comments left us even more absurdly exposed as flounderers in the depths of the SoCal Pleasure Nightmare.
Yes. We floundered absurdly. We laughed, and then were vaguely disconcerted...
Can’t wait to read the essays you two produce about San Diego; Two Years Before the Mast gets distracted by that little ocean out there.
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