Spent the morning watching the sun rise and drinking hotel coffee here at Seal Rock. The Pacific looks moody, but I don’t quite know her well enough to say that this is her general demeanor [although I have my suspicions].
Today I’ll drive out of San Francisco and head towards the site of a semi-famous short story: “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County” by Mark Twain. I think the drive to Angels Camp is about 3 hours from here, and I’m sort of looking forward to zoning out on scenery on the way out there. The gig is at the Calaveras Celtic Faire and I’m hoping the weather holds this year [as any festival veteran knows, there's nothing like rain to turn a perfectly good festival into a mud pit].
I’ve double-checked all my gear, and everything seems to be in working order. I even had enough time to iron some clothes. Yes, you heard me — I ironed something. [Believe it or not, artists CAN be trained to do such things, but it's imperative that we're trained when still very very young, otherwise we make our feelings on such idiotic domestic chores known by pointedly scorching anything set before us].
Anyway, I think I’ll head downstairs for a bite of breakfast before possibly making a quick jaunt out to the Sutro Bath Ruins [literally across the street from me past the corner of 48th and Point Lobos]. Although Golden Gate Park is just about 4 or 5 blocks away too. Hmmm. Think I feel like the ocean, though.
Odd side note: Hunter S. Thompson used to hang out here. Weird, no? Perhaps I should go for Hunter-esque Gonzo journalistic-type entries for the rest of my time in Cali.
Or not. 
Dunno if they’ll have technology in the Frog Jumping Capital; might hafta trust my missives to the Angels of aether later.
Enough! Omelettes and ocean are calling!
CaptZeb
I’m sure you’ll get it all ironed out (groan)
