Ah, the elusive yet accommodating folks' basement. It's been eight months since I've had four walls to call my own, so I'll settle for three and a partition now. I had fun orbiting in California before crashing here, though.

From other parents' basements across the world, nerds turned up for Robolympics, an ode to Battlebots. Actually, it was the same but with more plexiglass, flames, and the occasional nonviolent AI humanoid breakdancing match. An acquaintance competed (victoriously) in the middleweight competition, so admission and workshop access flowed like light machine oil. Despite vigorously betting with Bryan on matches all Saturday, I left the carnage with exactly the number of quarters I started with. Those coins were the only metal not battered to hell when that evening's fog rolled in over Alcatraz.

My aunt, Ms. Garrett, is close with one of the recent gubernatorial candidates, Garrett, and that connection brought me, Garrett, to a shindig. Garrett rented a little fish-themed place for his wife's birthday party. Namely, the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Yeah, the same joint that puts Baltimore's dinky National Aquarium in its proper corner of the tank. Its jellyfish walk won 'Best Exhibit in North America' when it debuted last year, thwomping every other aquarium, zoo, or art show on the continent. An Outer Bay tank dwarfed the banquet. The 300-pound tunas regularly passed four feet from me. That reinforced my decision to eat the salmon instead. Garrett and all his cronies do the scuba, so conversation flowed when jaws weren't actively dropped by a pre-dessert magic show. Maria doesn't dive, but the sea turtles almost convinced her to jump right in. And I don't normally dance, but Maria convinced me to, well, jump right in.

What's a rock-n-roll lifestyler to do when your two favorite bands sold out years ago? How about wait until the best members of both get antsy, join forces and hold a jam session in a small San Francisco club. Throw in a little no-smoking legislation, hog the front of the crowd with the best looking girl in the Bay Area, sauté, and enjoy.

Santa Cruz: Beach - check. Ferris wheel pictures - check.

Now, you know I'm a liberal fella. But I don't go around arbitrarily designating mid-sized municipalities "nuclear-free zones" and boycotting (?) country clubs because they don't let every hobo meander through at will. Please don't think I'm judging you, Berkeley. The last thing I need is hemp-garmented picketers between me and my backyard grass-mowing chores. No, no - not that type of grass. Sheesh. I still like you, though. I'll come down and celebrate Indigenous Peoples' Day when it rolls around.

I'm writing off the Corvallis detour as an unemployment expense. I borrowed Eric's copy of Cool Careers for Dummies, see.

'Writing off.' That reminds me. Taxes. Heh. Those'll be easy this year.