It's that time again...

where for no reason I start feeling homesick for NY. I know all the cons: it's expensive, it's crowded, the winter is too cold, the summers too hot. Oh, and the whole gentrification thing. I agree and am even enjoying the perks of California living - there is no such thing as "cold" here and I can drive to an ocean, a mountain, a redwood forest or a desert with ease - the geographical diversity is spectacular.

But there's just that je ne sais qua that New York has and almost everywhere else doesn't. San Francisco is adorable, but it doesn't have this:












Or this:













Or subways (worth traveling). Or pizza. Oh god. East Coasters take note: you leave NY, you leave pizza behind. California thinks it has pizza, but it only has cheesey bread. Sometimes this cheesey bread is satisfying, but mostly it's not. Often it's horrendous. An ex-co-worker of mine (one born and bred in CA) once commented to me "Oh, you like NY style pizza."

No.

No. There is pizza (which is found in NY) and everything else purporting to be such. Saying "NY style pizza " is like saying "Pizza Pizza."

And to give California it's due - there is no Mexican food on the east coast. Trust me, you may think you're eating a burrito, but you're not.

Um, anyway. I'm homesick. I'm not moving back. I guess I should learn to enjoy this feeling.

*sniffle*

Um...

Gentle reader (readers? I have my doubts that anyone but I actually reads this stuff), accept this as one of many pointless blog postings. I just felt like blogging.

This being the case, I don't have much to tell you. Our weekend was great - my friend threw a drunkin' good time party on Friday night - while I was not drunk, such inebriation does the heart good. There was drinking, bean dip and the inevitable firecrakers. No one was burned or disfigured, which is almost disappointing. On Saturday we gorged ourselves with fine sushi and I finally returned to yoga after a two week hiatus. Kevin, the instructor, cranked the heat and tortured us like the yogi sadist he is. We took Fried to the beach in Half Moon Bay on Sunday with my co-worker Lisa and her husband Ted. This was directly proceeded by a terrific lunch over which we hatched a plan to put another fellow co-worker out of her misery via a massive nicotine fit (still in its planning stages).

California is still on fire. I am, this very moment, experiencing a high fructose corn syrup fit - my employers stock the office fridge with Cracka-Cola. I will resist.

See? If I had real drugs this wouldn't be a problem. Damn you, farm bill.

We have a trip to the Grand Canyon booked for next June, including a burro ride into the chasm - the other night I dreamt that the trail ride led us over rickety bridges and at one point we were required to carry our burros while we scaled the vertical face of the wall on a dodgy rope ladder. Maybe I'm afraid of the Grand Canyon? Doubtful.

And well, I've run out of steam. Hopefully my next post will be better.