Title

Home now. Feeling a little restless, unrested, tired, hungry, confused, hungry, slow, anxious and other than all of that, pretty ok. I was home for a few hours after a seemingly routine 14 hour flight home from Australia before a good bunch of friends and I hit the roller derby down the street. It was obnoxious and loud and the most fun that my poor jet-lagged ass could have had my first night back.

We had a few drinks on Haight Street until the big sham of a music festival in Golden Gate Park let out spilling fans and bands alike into the Haight. The last thing I remember was someone shouting with glee that he was the only thing  keeping Ben Harper's keyboard player upright. I think he also might have been holding Tom  Petty's hair back in the men's room.

The next day I sweated out some airplane food and a 1/2 pint of Absinthe (I can't quite figure out when or why I thought that would be a good idea) by walking up to Tank Hill with some pals. The music festival still raging in the park we could hear the makings of Jack Johnson lulling fifteen thousand people to sleep with a ukulele.

Jamie was in town from NY and taking a break from The Dandy Warhols and from trying to find a sucker to rent a room in his spendy alphabet city pad. We had a few days so we went camping up in Mendocino.















The weather was pretty perfect, and it was a nice way to ease back into the land of the living.

Shrimp. On the Barbie.















I made it home and headed right down to Carmel for a few days. Big Sur (the bits that survived the fire) is alright.

Fleeting.