I took a look at some of my archived writings from the past couple of months, and it occurs to me that for the most part I don't talk about my weekends. Yesterday, for example I linked to some dumb thing that Alicia Silverstone said rather than talk about the last 72 hours of my life. And now I will contradict myself.
Last Friday after having a pint in SF with an old friend that turned into a couple of pints and then dinner with a lot of people I don't know, I woke early on Saturday to go surfing in Santa Cruz with Ben. The surf was pretty flat so we headed down the coast to Manresa where we paddled and paddled and paddled and paddled and pretty much turned around and got out. Still, it was the maiden voyage for both of our boards and both of us vowed to go to GNC and begin lifting weights and ingesting metabolic steroids due to our pitiful performances. On the way home everyone in the Bay Area forgot how to drive in the rain (as happens every single time we have a large storm). The resulting marathon drive, normally a 1 hour event, rivalled ABC Sports coverage of a Saturday golf game for viewership and length. I actually heard my bucket seat cry for help during a particular grueling stretch of road. Sunday brought happier times as I trekked back to the summit of Santa Cruz for the Fitzpatrick (Allison's) Family Annual Christmas tree hunt (brought to you by Automobiles. Automobiles ... never has Western Civilization begged for exstinction more.)
Well now I know why I don't talk about my weekends. It has taken me approximately 8 days to get around to finishing this post. Yes that means there is another weekend in there that I didn't talk about. Sheesh. Ok back to interesting links and crap I think about on the way into the office.