A Broken Camera Is, Like, A Metaphor For Something

Meg's napping, so I'm writing you guys. I was going to write an entry called "A Day in the Life of Meg" in which I would describe a typical day in the life of my beloved, complete with teasing me, and taking multiple naps, and having various clog-related walking mishaps. I had her in hysterics with my verbal rendition of the entry, but she threatened to do terrible things to me if I actually wrote it, so, there you go.

We've been having a wonderful time, picking out new glasses for me, eating lots of good food, reading to each other, visiting the aquarium, wandering to and fro, cooking together, and watching movies. She bought me Bringing Up Baby for Xmas. Is this not the best old movie ever? I also finally bought a coffee maker, so I can drink the yummy Mexican Altura coffee that Meg brought me from Espresso News back in Boone. Going back to work on Tuesday is going to suck. I've enjoyed these days off with Meg. She's here until next Sunday, but I'll only see her in the evenings after New Year's...

Me and Meg and Scott and D. went to Hole in the Wall, my favorite beach spot, today. We played Frisbee Stick Game. This is a game in which the players smash frisbees with a big stick. It is such an insane amount of fun. We used to play it in the parking lot of the chiropractor's office next to our apartment in Boone. It's a different game on the beach; sliding in sand, wind from the ocean, and so on.

(For those of you suffering in colder climes: It's sunny and warm warm warm here in Santa Cruz. Poor Lynne is in Minnesota where, according to the weather channel, today's high was 3 degrees)

Scott stood up on big a rock in the surf to take a picture. A large wave broke over him. No damage done to Scott, just a soaking, but he feared for his camera, which is a new, expensive, super-hi-tech device. It worked fine for a while after the dousing... then inexplicably stopped. So he's afraid it's busted.

Hole in the Wall was lovely, except for Scott's mishaps. I had a good Frisbee Stick Workout. Gorgeous sunset, friendly dogs, some naked goths doing artsy photography. They had yards and yards of gauzy black material which they wound about themselves artistically (that's how I could tell they were goths, y'know).

I had a really wonderful moment in the car, on the way to the beach. Megan leaning against me in the back, Scott and D. shooting the shit in the front seat, sun shining, Scott zooming past slow cars, Dido on the radio singing about the best day of her life... I felt absolutely happy and delighted and content. You know what I mean-- when you look around and things are exactly the way you want them to be, you couldn't think of a way to make it better if you tried. That kind of moment.

Okay, laundry list:

• Meg cut several inches off my hair today, doing the snipping in the garden path behind my house.
  
• A couple of pierced, leather-clad kids sitting on the stoop of the burned-out house next door asked if they could smoke a bowl on my porch, being as my porch is rather secluded. I politely refused.
  
• Me and Meg made Hershey's Special Dark Chocolate Brownies. I think they're too sweet. Meg thinks they're too bitter. One wonders how our relationship will continue.
  
• Last night, about midnight, Scott made some really good sausage balls.
  
• We ate breakfast at Zachary's. Again. Zachary's is too too good, and it's right around the corner... and it's expensive. We have to control ourselves.
  
• Amily gave me a stuffed ferret and a stuffed otter for Xmas. They chitter and squeal and make cute noises when I squeeze them, which I do often. Amily: My girlfriend and housemates would like to thank you for bringing these joyful noises into their otherwise quiet lives.
  
• Scott notes that Santa Cruz has an attractive female police officer. I concur. But she's the one who gave me my scooter ticket, so I'm disinclined to like her.
  
• Meg intends to take me to see The Family Man despite my protests (all reasonable objections aside, whenever I heard the phrase "the family man" I think of the dead serial killer from Neil Gaiman's Sandman issue "The Collectors." Which isn't exactly heartwarming holiday fare). So far she has failed, because we never have it together enough to go to the 7:30 show, and she's always comfortably settled-in and loath to leave the house by the time the 10:20 show rolls around. Heh heh heh. I'll avoid it yet. And maybe even manage to make her see Dracula 2000 with me.

I think that catches you up.

I will probably write an entry tomorrow, being as it's New Year's Eve, and I love the significance of the arbitrary. Talk to you then.