I've spent the last day developing some sweet playlists on Pandora -- the music genome project (read: the sweetest fucking thing in existence... google it), eating Korean-style pig stomach, and -- oh ya, I lost my wallet this morning when we went surfing at Scripps -- but I totally found it and a folding army knife which wasn't mine too (which could be real U.S. Army issue, since there are ton of military bases in the area -- the Navy base I passed today was GIANT).
A generally rad dude: Chip -- the man whose answering machine lets you know you probably won't hear back from him.
We stop for gas the first day in San Diego on Turquoise Street, as Chip gives me a run down on all the different beach communities that are home to nightlife, waves, and really tasty burritos.
Go up to the war memorial past the road that says it's closed and you get this view in 360 degrees -- a metropolis of squirming lights rolls along gracefully.
Beer in the fridge -- check. Thruster for barrels -- check. Fan on for max chill -- check.
Surfing as politics: Surfing is not part of some marginalized "surf culture" -- these days out here riding waves is just what everybody does.
Manuel is the Mexican guy in charge of maintenance and stuff at the house here. He's super chill but freaks out when the authorities show up at the door.
I totally rode that longboard.
SoCal is the home of the concrete jungle mystique -- you could probably lay a foundation over an entire small country with all the roads that cross over each other down here.
Setting sun, brilliant colours.
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