Florida: Pretty Much Just For Bragging and Tacos

So Florida was okay.

As I get older, I realize the great joy one can derive from making one's peers feel worse about having to go about their day-to-day lives while you go on vacation. Pictures like this make that so much easier.

But enough of that. We visited Ana's sister in Tampa, where we got to hang out with nephew Mikey

We went to the local science museum, which basically consisted of gross-out interactive exhibits. In short, awesome. Look at arm hair when magnified! Gross!

Look at what I'll look like at 70!

Look at Ana's height! Can't fake that! It's digital!

Finally, we met up with Jenny at a taco place. Here she is after obviously saying something hurtful.

In fact, Jenny's chastisement for my lack of posting lately is pretty much the only reason I posted this today. One day I'll get the stupid iMac fixed so I don't have to use this tiny computer with its terrible graphics program. You'll see.

To Tide Over

Me, Ana and Amy in San Francisco, posing for our upcoming LP release. I'd post more but I'm walking at the speed of Tim Conway's Old Man character from the Carol Burnett Show, so I have to leave early to get to work.

Christmas is for Art

Since Ana celebrates holidays by contracting the plague, I went to Giant this afternoon to get some things for her healing serum. Giant on Christmas: overrun by Salvadoreans and fashionistas like this kid.


Last night:

Birthday Wrapup

At dinner, I pulled out my phone to take a picture before we started and Ana was all 'no don't that's rude' and I did it anyway. Why? Cuz I needed a picture.


The food was great, and included this dish, which was a beef tartare + some sort of fish roe + parsnip ice cream + a tortilla chip. Don't worry, it was delicious.



After, we went to Bourbon where Patso had done up a custom chalkboard (you've seen one before):



Yes, it says Hermano. "It's happy birthday bro," Patso said. He was right.

And finally, inspired by the thing from yesterday, Ana puts on a recital.

Priceless Artwork Times USA

I drew this portrait of Ana last night. She says it looks like Mark David Chapman, I say it looks like Mark David Chapman with horns and fangs.


Marty sends along this picture of me at work last New Year's Eve. Marty lives in Switzerland or somewhere now.

Ocean City USA

It's hard to have a bad trip to the beach, it turns out. Even with no sun, and when somebody's car breaks down on the way, the ish still rulez.

The ruling, it turns out, has much to do with being an adult and getting to do whatever you want.


Like, say, eating a snow cone and a caramel apple AT THE SAME TIME.


Or spending $20 on carnival games in exchange for a toy truck and three Dum-Dums.


Like this kid, who was enraptured by the claw.


Really, the entire point of going to the beach is to go to the bars. Or, in the case of Ocean City, the bar. The Bearded Clam, that is. The greatest bar in the world. Why, you ask? Because when you get up from your seats at the nearly-empty bar, they put a reserved sign. Cuz they know you're coming back.


And because they have all sorts of quasi-vintage beer paraphernalia, like this Bud sign which seems to have something grammatically wrong with it. Either way, though, it's still hard to argue with being Uniform and Distinctive at the same time. Just like America!




We stayed at Boss Boss's condo, which was likely built by Khrushchev, and which features a) the least-helpful exit diagram ever,


and b) the best beach-themed lamp ever.



Also, Ana was there!


Bad news.

OC Teaser

Back from the beach, which means I'm sweaty, tired, and have to be at work soon. So before the full post, here's a couple tidbits to tide you over.

Ocean City Part III: Airbrush Boogaloo

Coming soooon.

Vegas Extras: Surprising Numbers of Bearded Dude Pics Plus +++

We had sunglasses.

Who, me? Yes, both of us.


Look! Two dudes with beards. Shocker.


Dudes with beards sometimes chat with each other.

That lady with Hamouda reappeared.

If I were an ad executive looking for someone to advertise something related to kicking, I would hire Patrick.

Poses.


Best tattoo ever.

Las Vegas: Basically Just Novelty Drinks

Let's start this off right, Vegas-style, with a picture of a bakery in the airport.


What is more Vegas than Breadz?

Next is the second picture of a 24-hour bar that I've taken in the past month. Do you know what that means? Good month.


Next would be a couple dozen pictures of the inside of the casino we stayed at, including but not limited to the Dealertainers® (celebrity look-alikes who perform and also deal blackjack), but it's Vegas and they don't like cameras. So pictures of novelty drinks must suffice.

How this for suffice? 40 ounces of daiquiri in a plastic guitar. In the mall bathroom, natch.


Then disperse with the novelty drinks for the real drinks. Why? Cuz we're getting ready to go to the club, that's why.


(Aside: when you find a Sedaris book in the hotel bathroom, you know your friend is white.)


Hey, are you guys going to the club? Yes? Thought so.


What are you dudes doing? Oh.


What happens twelve hours later? Your body reminds you that you are a jackass.


But whatever there is still time to go to Fremont Street and eat fried Oreos.


In Fremont Street, you may remember, there is an experience that people take pictures of for some reason.


Other people buy Oakland Raider earrings and sparkly hats.


Oh, and some of the hats have lights in them.

Like this one the Chad is wearing. It is a USA hat.


Finally, we went to the El Cortez, which is noteworthy because it rules.


Then we came home to find that Junes had stocked our joint with Canadian chocolates


and New Glarus. Both of which are delicious.


Then we slept for 17 hours.

At RockHouse®, the Rock-themed/Beer Pong fake club attached to our hotel, Hamouda wore a singlet/jumper/onesie and drank a blue daiquiri. What did this result in?

You guessed correctly. It resulted in being accosted by a blacked-out, middle-aged tourist.