Random pics - 2 of 2

This will conclude the meaningless and repetitive part of the blog, as I throw on some pictures that I found in the corner of the room. Be prepared to be mesmerized and amazed.



Poker night at the girls' house. "Poker night" is a euphemism for "give your money to CT night." That's Lindsay and Mike to the left of me...an American couple helping out at the restaurant...while Florencia, my Argentinian love who just doesn't know it yet, looks on. Hampus is enmeshed in porn. Or music. Whatever.

John and Ian, one from Boston, the other from Nantucket. Both work at Kamakura and neither are usually as happy as they appear in this picture. I'm kidding. I'm just bitter because they made fun of my Falcons shirt. Kick a man when he's down, that's nice. At least I didn't choke away my chance at history, boys.

Flor from Argentina, Laura from England, and Emily from Wilmington, North Carolina. English culture...not bad. It's a good culture, with lots of assets besides just tea and an unhealthy fascination with Princess Di. Let's move on.

Oh yeah, Omari, Laura and yours truly, kickin' it at the pub...my smile says, "you know I'm too cool for school." Or, "should be on my final beer."

My man...

Hampus, my adopted little brother from Sweden, and Laura, my adopted distraction from life, on the Russell wharf for a post-pub (midnight) drinking party. She has moved on now to greener pastures, but she's good people, so we'll let her meet the parents when she stays in Atlanta in June with a cousin of hers. I won't be there, but Snuffy, my dog, will act as my envoy. Laura was good for me - she saw the good in me over the last couple of months...good that I too often over the course of the last few years didn't, or couldn't, see in myself. I hope we meet again one day.

Notice I'm under the "Get Rid of Rats" poster. I hope that's not symbolic.

Hampus tried to set the timer on the camera and this is what happened. I am of this world. Brooke, too. Laura and Hampus are not. Maybe they were just a dream. Or maybe I shouldn't add these comments after a night at the pub.

34 according to the birth certificate, but still 14 on the inside.

Brooke atop Flagstaff Hill on her final day in town.

It's easy to get lost in views like that...and think about how far away the Beltway in D.C. and I-285 in Atlanta really are. Enjoy the traffic.

On Brooke's final night in town, Bernard gave her a free dinner at the restaurant. We were so happy with the meal, and the preceding bottles of wine, that we just had to go into the kitchen to document our joy. Ironic in a way because every time someone lauds thier meal at the restaurant, I relay the appreciation to Bernard, and then follow up with something like, "but I'm pretty sure they were drunk." He loves it.

Well, this time, the patrons were in fact drunk.

Sunset from the restaurant.

Local scenery and stuff. Blah blah....

Yeah, more local scenery...the Chamber of Commerce should hire me.

Russell wharf.

The awesome flowery bush right next to the restaurant. I'm pretty certain that botanists call it the "awesome flowery bush" in their books.

Botany. What an underrated word. Incorporate it into a joke and it's always good for a laugh. That and "colonoscopy."

The Strand. That second building is my home away from home.

Liked the picture of the parachute in this one. I have the biggest wedgie in the universe in this shot. I may have lost the ability to have children after that harness had done its damage on my nether regions.

This was taken from the boat. My question: where in the hell is the cord going?

Good shot of the parasail boat driver thinking about lunch as I dangle precipitously from 1,200 feet.

"Raise your hand if you've had a few before this launch and can't remember which cord attaches where."

My groin hurts. Does the boat give coupons for the local urologist?

I don't know if I'm coming or going...but in Russell, it rarely ever matters.