Back from Palm Springs.

Last week Catherine and I drove down to Palm Springs, stopping on the way and on the way back in Sideways Land, aka the Santa Maria Valley wine country. Since I'm not exactly employed these days thanks to my dislocated cerebellum, the idea of a vacation was a little odd to me. But for Catherine, who's slaving away for HP at McCann, it was a true moment of heaven; and for both of us, it was just plain nice to get away.

It case you're wondering what's up with the weird dog picture, here's the scoop: for whatever reason, the hotel we stayed at adorns its decks with these bizarre -- but cool -- dog statues. Who thinks of this stuff? I dunno. But I spent hours staring at our Deck Dog and working out a guitar solo for a new tune called "Yo Yo". And the creature never yowled once. Good dog.

But back to Palm Springs. We wined. We dined. We relaxed. And that's about it—all under sunny skies and a blanket of warmth that made us both dread our return to cold, cloudy, windy San Francisco, which, true to form, welcomed us home with a giant middle finger of fog, which was being shoved into the bay by an ocean "breeze". Seriously, SF's rude ways with wind and white stuff have us both contemplating leaving the area for something a bit warmer. No plans yet, but after enjoying al fresco dining in Palm Springs every night, and days of blue and light, it's TOUGH to answer the question of why we put up with SF's lousy weather.

Comments

[Catherine]

"...a giant middle finger of fog.." -- well put!

[Toby]

Wow, when you were gone, it hit 108 in my place at 98 in San Francisco.