Day 210

I'm in San Diego, somewhat unexpectedly. A friend's mom passed away and we made plans to be home immediately. Earlier that same day, we had been forewarned a little bit and I was wondering if we would be going down. The other times I've had good friend's parents pass away, I've been too far away, either across the country or out of the country. In this instance, I was just a short flight away. That afternoon however, I still wasn't entirely sure what to do. I mean, what's protocol here? Is there such a thing as protocol in this situation? It felt very adult and slightly bizarre to think about what "should" be done. The consensus was that if you could go, you did, because everyone needs support in times like these, even if nobody is quite sure what that support might consist of.

I know when my dad died, everyone flocked into town and we were surrounded by people. My mom was already in China but we couldn't go yet because I had a problem with my passport and it would take about a week to expedite a new one. That week saved us, I think. Instead of going straight to China to face whatever happened, or would happen, we had a few days to hang out at a familiar place, with close friends, and to have life normalize. I recall the first hour or two when everyone gathered. We talked about what happened, and what we knew or didn't know, but mainly we just hung out. It started off semi-awkward but quickly became totally just like any other weekend. Which was great.

Later, George and I were both struck by how seemingly unemotional it all could be. Like you picture mentally that you'd be in shock, or want to not do anything but grieve, or that your mind would wander to sad mysterious places. None of those things happened. It felt almost wrong to laugh, even as you were laughing, even as your cheeks and stomach hurt so bad because you were cracking up so hard. And I think that's the strangest part of having someone pass away. The eighty percent of the time when everything is perfectly, absolutely, normal. Like a cannonball has dropped into your pond but no ripples occurred. And you stand there waiting for a tidal wave but somehow it doesn't happen.

On Friday night, we had one of the greatest times in recent San Diego memory. Late at night, as we sat around the living room munching on snacks and sipping on drinks, we laughed like crazy as we read old emails. Emails from five years ago, at the height of San Diego hanging out, when everyone was around and (almost) nobody had jobs. We often complain that San Diego is the Black Hole, that it remains unchanged even after all these years. But there's something to be said for familiarity. There's something to be said for having the perfect group of people around you to inject life's lowest moments with some of silliest. I don't think laughing replaces tears, not in the long or short run, but it never hurts does it?

Me and You

As I wrote on the other blog, I found this Friend Web maker and have been fascinated by it all week. When I first started playing around with it, I found it cool but not altogether super impressive. But then I juiced up the numbers to include everyone I knew on Facebook and the results were a lot more interesting and expansive.

I was really astounded by how well social groups mapped out together. I mean, from one little piece of information -- "Are these two people friends?" -- the program can extrapolate and pull like friends together, and really show relationships and cliques. It basically ninety percent nailed my various social circles. From the core San Diego people, to the huge dance circle (and two tiers of them too), fellowship friends, Chinese school friends, high school friends, work friends, and even small circles like my cousins or last year's San Diego hang out group. And the one-offs were displayed with perfect accuracy.

I mean, none of this describes who your best friends are, or who you feel closest to, but it does highlight who are the important social ties in your life. I mean, generally speaking, your good friends tend to know other people in your life, as you introduce them to each other, and thus they become Facebook friends, and get tied together in the web. This is generally speaking of course. My "best" friends don't quite line up like this -- as I'd imagine many people's don't. I mapped out my five traditional best friend nominees and they are a little bit apart from the center, with one exception. And that too is in line with how my close friendships generally are. My best friends tend to be far removed from my actual social circle, whether through circumstance or choice.

I'm fascinated by this program and want to see everyone's friend webs and study them to see what they reveal and tell me about my friends' friends. After all, that's what so many of my conversations are about. Who are your friends, how did you meet them, who are you close to?

Here's a few lists:

Most friends in common
George (97), James (95), Amit (93), Leslie (88), Hong (85), Lynn (83), Victor (70), Steve (68), Eric A (65), Babbs (65)

Top connectors
George, James, Hong, Victor, Lynn, Amit, Leslie, Lilly, Louis, Nancy

No friends in common
Joyce, Liz, Katharine, Jill, Jen-Marie, Charlie, Minnie, Wilda, Irene K, Tamoy

Day 202

Listening to: The Toys (as sung by the Supremes), "A Lover's Concerto." Man, this song's been on the tip of my tongue all weekend. I tried to Midomi it but couldn't get it to work. We could hum the classical song it was based on but couldn't find the remixed version. Then Chris magically found it for me. He also knew the words to the Flipper theme song. I mean, that's so random right? But oh so useful.

I watched "I Love You, Man" this past weekend and while the movie was no great shakes, it does bring up the question of how males meet other males. It's a problem I've always given quite a bit of thought to because I generally find it difficult to find good guy friends. In fact, when I do meet a guy that I think I can get along with really well, I tend to gush and develop man-crushes on them. I think they are the greatest people, I think they are the coolest people, and I love that they are a new addition to the boy side of the ledger.

Meeting new guys is not the problem. I mean, there are always random guys that could be available for acquaintance level activities. About eight weeks ago, I was playing basketball and met this guy who had gone to Eastern Michigan but hung out a lot on Umich's campus. We didn't know any of the same people but he seemed cool, he had an interesting job (car designer), he noted that it was hard to meet people in SD, and he was good at basketball. He gave me his email address and I remembered it all the way home, wrote it down, and then game planned to email him in a week's time.

The movie had a semi-funny scene where Paul Rudd gets all nervous and discombobulated while trying to call Jason Segel's character, his man date, for the very first time. He gets the answering machine and then stammers his way to a weirdo message. I don't think that really happens and it's clearly a parody but I have to say, when I emailed the basketball guy, I put just as much effort into the four line email as I would for meeting a new female friend. I wanted to come off as inquisitive, casual, and open to hanging out. Of course I had Googled him already so the background check turned up no red flags.

I considered what the best event would be to invite this near stranger to. Poker night with the boys? A night out at a club? Perhaps a quick meal? Maybe over to the house to watch some sports or play video games? Do we email a bit, chat on the phone, or maybe just Facebook each other before actually hanging out?

Well, I'll never know because the guy never emailed me back. After all the thought I put into it too.

The thing that sets off the events of the movie was Paul Rudd's lack of guy friends. He didn't have anyone for his side of the wedding party but more importantly, it was noted that maybe he would be too suffocating for his new wife if he didn't have friends of his own. I'm trying to figure out when this is the case in real life. Most every male I know has good guy friends, and yeah, it would be kind of weird if they didn't (Right?). The girl who has only guy friends is totally normal but guys who don't have any guy friends, even the semi-shallow boys will be boys type friends, that's definitely a bit of an eyebrow raiser.

So with that in mind, it's almost never a necessity to have more guys in your life. Thus, the bar has to be higher. For me, I have to really get along with someone in order to consider them guy friend worthy. It's much easier to just relegate guys to their little acquaintance boxes if they're just so-so. And there are a lot of things I can't generally stand with guys. That's a whole different post so I'll gloss over it here.

Over the past four years, I've met three new guy friends, people that I'd squarely consider good guy friends. Not necessarily best friends mind you, but just good friends. Like I could pick up the phone and be like "Hey, let's go hang out." Over the same amount of time, I'd say I've met three or four times that many new female friends.

Previous to that, an "explosion" of guy friends happened in 2003-2004 when I met six new guy friends. Half of those came in one package, as part of the newly constructed San Diego boys (Ameer, Gene, Ryan). The other half were all an extension of the San Diego boys in some form or another.

Before 2003-4, I always kind of gagged at the term "boys," because it seemed too cliche a label and I disliked it when people used "boys" in a sentence. Like "these are my boys." But now I've reconciled that and have no problem with the standard San Diego boys being termed "the boys." Plus, I'd never really been in an all male grouping like that so it became a bit of a novelty. That's even with the caveat that we always had a semi-equal number of girls as part of "the group."

I think part of the thing that makes it really difficult to find a great guy friend (not even necessarily as part of any established circle) is that the traits I look for aren't things guys will readily expose to one another. A visible sensibility, a lack of "I'm cool" facade, a willingness to not be totally guy-guy, and an appreciation of being vulnerable and silly. I think lots of guys potentially have all of these things, but rarely do they reveal them in one or two casual meetings.

So I look for little signs. Guys who unabashedly sing when a boy band song comes on. Someone who can hold a five minute conversation about something other than "Yo yo yo..." Someone who doesn't insist on commenting on every attractive female body part that comes into view. My ears perk up when "afraid" is used as part of his sentence (unless it's in the context of "I'm afraid I'm going to have to kick his ass.") Someone holding a pink and orange drink -- maybe to match my Tequila Sunrise.

It's all a lot harder than you'd think.

Getting Things Done

I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. I don't have enough time. Don't laugh. I'm like the one person in the world with all the time in the world. I have few obligations, I have no responsibilities, and I have the same twenty four hours everybody with a job has but they still manage to out do me. Here's what I'm feeling a bit whelmed by.

The book is coming out in two months. If I want to do this right, publicity needs to be kicked in. I'm not entirely sure what that involves but I know I need to concentrate all my energy on it. Build a website, social network, think up fun contests and events. Do the dew. All these things need to happen in order to have a successful launch. I should be doing all the motivation and push for the publicity, instead of having my wonderful agent people prod me. I don't want to be that donkey. I'm gonna try not to be that donkey. There's a few more writing related things I need to get on, which include trying to jump into the YA blogosphere, doing a book proposal, writing some stuff in general, and maybe taking a class.

And suddenly I'm panicking about the amount of time I'll have up here. I mean, two to three months isn't that long. A month here and I haven't even seen or hung out with half the people I really wanted to hang out with. Heck, I haven't even gotten that much quality time in with certain people period. How am I going to make new friends when I can't even manage old friends?

I'm also a tad worried about finding a job, even though I haven't started looking yet. I'll leave that worry behind actually. Money makes the world go round but I'm not gonna worry about it.

Actually I guess I just feel rushed all the time. I don't have much to do every day but somehow they fill up really quick. One event a day demands so much forethought about how to get there, when to eat, what I need to prep. And that doesn't even include the mundane things I've yet to do. Like laundry. Like buying things to put in my mini-fridge. Like taking long walks and exploring my neighborhood.

Wait, did I just spend this post complaining? Shit. I don't have anything to complain about. I just need to refocus and finish at least a few things on this list.

Day 195

The other day, I was tooling around in George's car when I stopped at an intersection near her apartment. A bum, a dog, and a cat walked by. The cat was riding the dog and hopped off once to walk a few feet and then hopped back on. Craziest shit I've ever seen. If I was in a cartoon my eyes would have bugged out and I would have rubbed them outrageously. I was so sure I had the unbelievable story of the year. The first person I told thought I was making it up and said, "Get out!"

Then I tell George and I'm so ready for her to be flabbergasted but instead she goes "And a mouse right?" What the hell? What mouse? I felt like my entire punchline was getting stolen. But it turns out that this guy and his bizarre trio are famous around San Francisco. Just google "dog cat rat SF" and it's everywhere. If you still don't believe me, here's a video.

I've realized that what seems exciting about living in an urban city is that things happen to you. You feel like you're really alive because at any time, something wild or wacky could happen. It could be frightening, it could be beautiful, it could be once in a lifetime or super mundane. But because you never know which, the unpredictability of it makes you feel alive. It's like being out in nature. You could get caught in a snow storm, you could get attacked by wild animals, you could lose your way, or you might come upon the most perfect little tree in all the world.

Living in the suburbs, your stories might always be some variation of "Guess what I saw at Target today?" Living in a San Francisco, I'd imagine my daily happenings, and little stories I could tell, would be more interesting. Which do I prefer though? The jury's definitely still out. Not every experience is going to be an amusing dog/cat/rat one. There's bound to be some crappy tales around the corner.

But that's living right? That's the realness right?

I'm just keeping my eyes on the ground for dog poop. Seriously, it's like my priority one when walking around. I may get mugged, jumped, or run face-first into a pole, but damn it my shoes will remain feces free.

Fill in the blank. The last time I lived alone was. Answer: never. Lots of people are so past roommates. I need them. I hate coming home to an empty space. I've been working for a few years now on hanging out by myself. I used to go bonkers if I was alone for a day or so. There's been some serious progress, even if much of that is probably aided by technology (which keeps me arguably constantly connected), but I'm still not entirely comfortable with big expanses of time to myself.

Now I have my own place, albeit one I've not really settled into yet, and it's like this mini-experiment for how I'll do alone. As pathetic as it sounds to compare it like this, it'll be like my Walden. I picture myself holed up for a few days at a time, conjuring up magical turns of phrase, cranking out books and writing, and lapping up the juice of solitary freedom.

The last time I was relatively alone, for a few months in England, I was boarding with a very nice family but basically had my own space and company. In my somewhat loneliness, I read the Bible for kicks, just about kissed Jimmy when he came to visit once from Belgium, and maybe wrote some bad poetry. Like really bad. The first line or two was "abeyance of breath / succeeds where the emptiness / of time and space collide." I couldn't tell you what "abeyance" even means now -- maybe I couldn't back then either.

So I guess I'm semi-excited to try to live alone, even if in reality I'm not alone at all and have plenty of people and spaces to visit. It's the idea of being alone that both frightens and excites. Like I'll be symbolically going outdoors, even as I'll probably be cooped up indoors. Come visit!

Bring cookies.

Day 191

It's t-minus a few days before my new Macbook arrives. I have been craving a new laptop for months but I finally bit the bullet. I mean, after dropping $500 for no reason last week, I figured it's now or never to splurge. Ameer was going to get a new Mini with his Elsie discount so I figured maybe I could get in on the action. Thanks to both of them, my new Macbook, juiced to 4 gigs of RAM and 320 gigs of hard drive space, will be here shortly.

I'm expecting my life to change. It probably will.

In its final days, my old iBook is really starting to put up a fight. Crashing randomly, battery draining after thirty minutes, refusing to connect to wireless. It's like deciding you're going to break up with your girlfriend and then she gives you a thousand more reasons to do it. Never look back, never waver. She's making it really hard to even be nostalgic because I'm mostly just frustrated with how slow she is. Ex to the next, hurry.

Tonight's random writing group, brought to me once again by Craiglist, was really great. It was held at a stranger's actual apartment and I was worried that maybe I'd be abducted or something. I was also worried that they'd so freely give out their address and phone number -- they clearly weren't concerned for their safety. It turns out the host was a very pleasant English girl, with a charming accent and a very interesting living space, including paintings of the ocean that reminded me of David Attenborough's nature documentaries. She informed me that not many people would be showing that night, and apologized, but that was just fine with me. A few minutes later, another guy showed up, full of frantic energy and short quick laughs. He had a tattoo of a heart on one arm and a cartoon rocket on the other.

My greatest fear jumping into these groups is being terrible. That wasn't much of a problem the first time out last week (for a different group), as I arrived late and didn't have anything to share. I just sat down and started reading/critiquing other people's work. This time, we did a few writing exercises. Part of me fell in love already. I mean, people sitting around doing writing exercises? This was a dream come true right?

Then I sort of got it in my head that whatever I was writing/typing was going to be dull and tired. There's this moment where you're not sure what your co-writers are going to be capable of writing, and that makes you kind of afraid to share. Our first exercise was to pick up one of the books on the couch, find a sentence we liked, and then write for ten minutes starting with that sentence. I started with a line from Margaret Atwood's Moral Disorder. "After the murder of his wife, the peacock started behaving strangely."

I found out that while I wasn't necessarily terrible, I didn't write great either. I mean, for one, I wrote really slowly. Like the other two writers cranked out a good amount of stuff in such a short time. They had this sort of effortless way of describing things. I found myself self-editing a lot in my head. And I wrote really straight forward, without much spin or spark. I think it just takes practice. This is the closest to anything creative writing I've done since maybe grade school?

I have another meeting with the critique group on Thursday. I've discovered I suck at critiquing. Well, discovered is the wrong word. I knew I sucked at it, I just hoped I'd be a little better than I actually am. It's a totally different skill, writing versus critiquing. I'm excited to both write something for the meeting and try to be a bit more active with my opinions on other people's pieces.

After the murder of his wife, the Peacock started behaving strangely. On routine trips canvassing the city, he took to flying too low and was often seen weaving in and out of the tree line. Photos in the next day’s Daily Thunder were accompanied by op-eds that wondered if he’d actually been out policing the streets, or if he’d just been flying around aimlessly, fully costumed, and thus still getting paid, wasting everyone’s tax dollars.

It’d been a week and our reputation was taking a hit. Plus, it was getting on my nerves, having to avoid the issue, everyone saying that he just needed some space.

“David, I think we should talk a moment,” I said, as he landed at the furthest edge of the Aviary. As I walked over, he kept quiet, looking out into the sky, eyes focused into the distance.

“I think you forgot these.” I opened my hand to display a dozen inch-long metallic feathers. “They’re being found all over the city. People have been sending them back addressed to you.”

Turning his gaze from the horizon to my hand, David carefully picked up one of the feathers. He ran his thumb along one of the razor edges, drawing a thin smear of blood. He flicked the blue feather over the edge, watching it twirl down and away.

Leaping off the edge, I raced down to catch it, and then floated back up to face him. “Look at me, damn it. You can’t do that. You could kill someone from this height.”

“Is that so? Could I?” he said, his eyes finally flickering to life.

Tahoe

My $500 Day

Listening to: Sixpence None the Richer, "Kiss Me."

There's been this smear of dog poop hanging outside George's building steps for a few days now. I don't know whose job it is to clean it up but it's definitely my job to call it out and make sure visitors avoid it. Should anyone step in it, they'll have to throw their shoes away -- which I would unhesitatingly do, no matter the shoe -- and that would just be terrible. So I keep my eyes on the poop and warn others. If I were a nobler citizen, I would put on some gloves, scrape that stuff off, and really change the world. But these gloves were made for smoking, not scooping.

Earlier today, George's communal garage door was jammed, leaving it unable to open more then a quarter of the way up. One guy couldn't back his car out because it was positioned too close to the door. As I exited through the other entrance, I was thinking about what a horrible week this entryway was having. The 3000 block of Fillmore needed some happy thoughts.

Eight hours later, I returned after retrieving George's car from the impound lot and pulled into the still busted, but now open, garage, startling a couple furiously making out, bodies tucked inside to avoid the pouring rain. The girl was wearing a short pleated skirt and the guy wore a power suit and a huge chin. They scurried away to continue making out elsewhere. Ah, Wednesday night love. It's so romantical.

A few hours earlier, at approximately four fifteen (according to the police dispatcher), George's car was being towed away from right outside Victor's apartment. I was inside, on the phone with a tough sounding employee of South Bay Express, settling the bill for totally not my fault toll violations. I'd been fighting them for months but I finally waved the white flag of surrender after factoring in that I'd have to fly back home to contest the charges. I'm chalking the whole thing up to a friendship tax, because driving up and down that road to hang out was well worth the price. I think.

The other $250 spent for the tow and retrieve fee? Well, that's the price of having spent a great afternoon editing the Tahoe snowboarding video with Victor, getting some free laundry done, and a nice plate of ribs. By the time I was wandering up and down the block trying to figure out where the car had gone, I was too high from the video editing to be brought down by anything short of being run over.

After retrieving the car and arriving safely home a bit wiser and a lot poorer, I walked out to the corner donut store. One maple donut, a small coffee, and an apple later, I felt even better. So good that I gave five dollars to the bum on the corner -- something I'm normally morally opposed to doing -- just to keep my karma high.

I guess I had a bad day but it sure doesn't feel like it. And now Brown Sugar is on TV so no complaints here.

"The anticipation arose as time froze
I stared off the stage with my eyes closed and dove
into the deep cosmos
The impact pushed back, the first five rows
But before the raw live shows
I remember I'se a little snot-nosed
Rockin Gazelle, goggles and Izod clothes
Learnin the ropes of ghetto survival
Peepin out the situation I had to slide through
Had to watch my back my front plus my sides too
When it came to gettin mine I ain't tryin, to argue
Sometimes I wouldn'ta made it if it wasn't for you
Hip-Hop, you the love of my life and that's true"
-Roots, Act Too (The Love of My Life)-

The Slopes

Listening to: Soul For Real, "Every Little Thing I Do." We brought it back to the old school this weekend. Cranking the hits, singing along to everything, making up lyrics and hitting the last word of each line loud because that's the one you definitely know is 100% correct.

The much anticipated Tahoe trip finally happened and it was fantastic. All around I'd give it a solid A for awesome, except for maybe the long drive back, which included not only sleet, snow, and rain, but me proving my manhood by successfully removing a stuck snow chain from the inside of Jon G's back tire. Wait, me proving my manhood is a good thing right? A+ weekend.

Apparently there was some speculation by our so called friends that between the two Jon's, we'd never make it home because we were not exactly the handiest of men. But my extra thin hands were perfect for reaching through the brakes and nabbing the dangling cord. Sometimes it's better to be a mouse than an elephant. So after a near miss of almost rear ending a Porsche Cayenne, and driving through a virtual snowstorm, Jon G and I not only made it back to the city safely but got in some great conversation time. Did you know he used to have blonde hair and an eyebrow piercing freshman year? I need some pictorial evidence before I can fully believe it.

Snowboarding itself is a terribly expensive pursuit. A weekend away, with lift tickets costing eighty dollars a day, renting a place to stay, and investing in equipment means kind of a lot of money. For my day and a half of boarding, the trip was like three hundred. If we all could surf or something, that would have been so much cheaper. But snowboarding has mass appeal and getting away for a weekend and holing up in a cabin is a classic getaway. The promise of a fire and good company ain't bad either.

I was pumped and hyperexcited the full day before, with my energy waxing and waning as I tried to keep expectations low but morale high. Awhile ago we decided to institute a "Every Man Left Behind" policy when snowboarding since nothing's worse than having to sit around waiting for less experienced boarders. It's the best when you can just ride, chair lift, ride, chair lift, non-stop. I've been pushing for my place on "Team A," the best riders of our group, knowing in my heart that I belonged. Some doubters felt I wouldn't be able to keep up with Team A standards. Whatever. Let's call these doubters "James," just for kicks.

While life isn't all about competition, a bit of healthy ranking and competition is always good, especially for sports. Going in, I knew James and Lynn were better than me. I was damn positive Dann was better (although the mystery of how good he was, and if he was better than James, was intriguing) but thought that maybe I'd be able to sneak my way into the fantastic four -- the perfect number for one shared chairlift. My boarding nemesis, Jimmy, couldn't make the trip so I figured I was due my spot on Team A.

Well, as it turned out, I'm only Team A if we expand the definition. I forgot how good Victor was. He's low to the ground, he's fast, and he's stylish. Better than me for sure. Heck, after Alex decided to unshackle himself from George after she got tired during Day One, I think he turned out to be better than me. Luckily I changed the definition of Team A to include six riders and it was universally agreed that I was capable of keeping up with the five of them. Dann might even have said that I was better than he thought, which means either he was highly doubtful beforehand or maybe slightly impressed afterwards. I'll accept a combination of both answers.

The weather on Saturday was gorgeously warm, fantastically bright, and overall a perfect boarding day. We all boarded as a group for most of the day and there was hardly any waiting at all, which was great. Team A and Team B were hardly separated by much even if I like to make a big deal about it. Sunday's weather was rainy and snowy but served as a nice contrast to the ideal conditions the day before. When you can't clearly see the snow, it sometimes frees you to ride truer. At least I feel that way.

The thing about snowboarding is that sometimes it's so cold and wet sitting on the chairlift that you want to just give up and stop. But then the fun run down refreshes you and gives you the strength to sit on that lift again. It's a constant push-pull of "I'm done" and "One more run!" Until your legs give out though, and you start falling for no reason. That's when you know to pull the plug and head inside for hot chocolate. Umm, hot chocolate.

Our cabin was surprisingly roomy. Three levels, two bedrooms, a loft with four singles including a bunk bed. It was a perfect sleepover setup. We had a food fest. I bought thirty six eggs but someone sneakily traded it out for only twenty four. Dann insisted we get all the ingredients for puppy chow, which turned out to be harder said than done. But damn that puppy chow was addictive. Victor brought up marinated Korean style pork chops and then proceeded to pump out perfect chop after perfect chop on the grill. James kicked in with buttery roasted vegetables, Jon G made the inspired decision to buy six chicken pot pies from Ikeda's, and we had a feast all night long.

And oh the alcohol. Lynn is a legend for her drinking ability and she just kept pouring and pouring shots. Jon G and Steve had a bet to see who could stay up until three AM. Steve passed out by ten. Jon G passed out an hour after. That's what happens when you start drinking so early. I had quite a few and felt amazing, not even a headache or flushed face to show for it, despite not having Pepcid AC around. I think it was the singing.

For a solid hour and a half, we cranked up the stereo and had a guys sing-a-long to Ne-yo, Shai, Usher, and you know, the jams and the hits! There might have been some dancing too. I wished all the people who couldn't make it this weekend had come, because singing at the top of our lungs and dancing in that little cabin in Tahoe rivaled any great night out in the city.

I could go on but I'll just let the pictures and the video speak for themselves. It was a near perfect weekend, only made imperfect by how short it was. Just one more run?!?