Pictures, Explained

Rather than create a narrative about five days in California and Oregon, which would require comprehension of time and space, I'd rather just comment on some pictures.

First, following in the first rule of American salesmanship, this guy yells obscenities at passersby, then sells them tea, further proving that people love being belittled, all the while justifying my personal work philosophy.


If every restaurant and bar in the world served some version of roasted bone marrow, it would be fine with me. This particular version is from Alembic, has capers and some other stuff, and was served to us by a very sad and weeded bartender who had to make lots of deconstructed Mint Juleps for tourists. He was particularly bummed about the fact that he was still waiting for his grenadine to cool, which is a problem I will likely never encounter.


The trip incorporated about 1200 miles of driving from San Francisco to Eugene, OR and back, a trip which gave me some form of back cancer that makes me walk like a comical old man. Ana and Amy find that HILARIOUS.


Somewhere in San Francisco, somebody's idea of a treasure chest is an oversized plastic container covered in affirmations.


Meanwhile, in Myrtle Creek, OR, the Dairy Queen has a cheeseburger eating competition that started in 2003 and seems to have reached its pinnacle on May 3, 2008, when dudes named Ammon and Tony ate 14 1/2 and 16 cheeseburgers, respectively.

The rules for the contest, which were on another unpictured sign, read something like this: "The cheeseburger contest rules: Eat more than the guy who came before you. Ask employees for details." We didn't ask, but I'm pretty sure the details would include them telling us that we needed to eat more than 16 cheeseburgers. I had a Blizzard instead.


In Eugene, restaurants have signs that tell you that you're entering a "Hate-Free Zone." Lucky for us they didn't do a hate search, cuz they would've probably kicked us out. Also, the picture of George Bush in the bathroom seemed to be covered in hate. Hippies have never been sticklers for consistency.


Here's a picture of Myrtle Creek.