So imagine my surprise when I flew back to LA (after several storm delays due to actual weather in Atlanta) and found that the biblical rains had struck again! This time, the 101 freeway by my house was shut down because it was flooded with nearly three feet of water! That's more than half my size. Nuts.
And that Hunter S. Thompson had gone gonzo on himself with one of his many guns! I'm surprised he lived this long, but he sure did keep things interesting on his journey here.
Anyway, the weekend in Florida was pretty mellow. I was in a sleepy little beach town, chock full of strip malls and the ghosts of hurricanes past. Like this past summer. There were still torn up fences, missing signs, and patches of buildings waiting to get fixed... and I'm not slagging them: in the Bay Area, they are still fixing up after that Loma Prieta quake in '89.
We went to the beach and ran around, went to check out the manatees (which I didn't get to see, but they're about the size of an Escalade and like to cruise to the piers to say hi), fed a giraffe at the zoo, and hit up a Catholic school fundraiser. Mostly, it was great to just hang out with my friends - hopefully they'll return to our rockin' earthquake state once they are able to shake those hurricanes. Hell - why should I try to convince them to leave? They can actually buy a house in their state!
Perhaps the mellow weekend was to prepare me for my apocalyptic return into hel-La, with waters raging and work stressouts and journalistic suicides all around. Hmmm... wonder if any of that rates on the Rapture index? Just in case any of you were thinking about the end of the world while fishing your car out of that sinkhole on your block.
