I can play this here guitar...

(I was going to title this post "I got blisters on my fingers," but it sure feels like I already gave a post that title. I can't seem to locate it now, so maybe I just imagined giving a post that title.)

I am sure Snake Woman has written a guitar class post, but I am still boycotting her blog, so I cannot link directly to it. Actually, please support my boycott by not clicking that link; you can read a little about my guitar class right here:

I'm taking this guitar class at Coastline College. Coastline College is a strange college in that they have no campus; rather, the guitar class meets in the band room at Estancia High School. Class is frequently interrupted by band geeks getting and/or putting away their instruments.

A little too advanced for me, the instructor (a master guitarist), has scared most of the absolute beginners out of the class. (Please don't click that link.) If nothing else, the class has inspired me to play the guitar a little more often...every Monday as a matter of fact, with a couple of more senior classmates (Lee, world champion Harbor 20 racer; and Joe, amateur guitar builder). So last night, walking towards Lee's house on the beautiful Balboa Island, Joe and I get stopped by this old man who just happened to be an original member of the Kingston Trio. I am not sure if he was replaced by another third guy, or if he was the fourth member. He said he played with them at Stanford, but the rest of the band was too heavy into the drugs, so he had to quit the Trio. When I think banjos and matching striped shirts, I think hardcore narcotics, how about you?


I guess Lee invited him to play with us, but the former Kingston Trio member declined because he uses an unusual open C tuning, and cannot play a conventionally strung guitar. So instead of 1950s folk rock, we played Margaritaville a few dozen times. My fingers are killing me. Joe says my guitar needs new strings. Yeah, I rock.

We were somewhere in the desert around Barstow when the drugs began to take hold.

Weekend in Vegas visiting my very favorite Vietnamese pharmacist and his old lady. They were rather surprised that there is a Pho restaurant in Treasure Island...I'm guessing Vietnamese restaurants are not terribly common in the Pacific Northwest.


In case that last paragraph was unclear, my favorite Vietnamese pharmacist lives in Seattle, not Las Vegas. Like most of my friends from pharmacy school, he is a little afraid to visit me in California (our proud state only makes the news when there are earthquakes or drive-by shootings)...however, none of them are afraid of Sin City, so I try my hardest to make the drive out there whenever any of them are also making the trip. Speaking of pharmacy school, the Butler Bulldogs made me $18 with their upset of Maryland.

Also at Treasure Island: Mystere. I do not really get the French.

Nico's #1 complaint about Vegas: Slot machines no longer have slots or arms...unless you search really hard downtown. Here's Nicole and a one armed bandit:


On the way home, we stopped in the Mojave National Preserve, searching for California Desert Tortoises. The tortoises proved most elusive, perhaps because they can run at speeds of up to 30 miles per hour. Nicole claims to have seen one as we were getting off the freeway, but after an hour or so of searching, I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

In the year 2000...

The computers have been down since yesterday morning. More correctly, the pharmacy computer systems have been down. As you can see, I can still do the important stuff.

Speaking of faulty computers, this new Daylight Saving Time has had a far greater impact on my life than did Y2K. For starters, my DVD player kept resetting to the wrong time (resolved after I unchecked the auto-adjust for DST)...as it turns out, I would have been better off not fixing that problem, as all the programs scheduled on the satellite receiver are still off by the same hour (though I cannot say I am that disappointed about recording the World Poker Tour instead of Lost).

If I took my career more seriously, I would also have a rant about all the appointments in Outlook and/or my cell phone being off by an hour...

Since I have nothing else going on, I guess I will start a "Training for the RockNRoll Marathon" mileage log.

So far this week: 15 miles (all on treadmill).

I am not really sure how treadmill miles compare to regular miles, but Nico will only run on the boardwalk at tortoise pace.

This blog thing is really starting to catch on...

This just in: my second favorite Korean pharmacist now has a blog. It is far more Korean than my third favorite Korean pharmacist's blog (which I am no longer reading due to the continuing preponderance of racial slurs).

I do not read Korean, and #2's translator link was not translating for me. Fortunately, Google helped me out. That link probably won't work again. Please trust me when I tell you that the entire thing is poetry.

As it is. Secretly secretly.
At soul pine nut end.
It loves. It is grateful.
In order to become we, and roll up. Okay?

If I was a Mekon, we'd talk about a tour.

First Too Much Joy concert in 10 years, and Nico says we have to go to a wedding. I hate weddings. Come on guys, play the west coast. You can sleep on our floor.

It was really hot on Sunday, until the smoke started providing shade. Smoke and raining ashes...very pleasant afternoon.

Does she have biceps like Henry Rollins?


The mission: Get in shape before the Jamaica trip...just in case Nico wants to go to the nude beach...more correctly, it's a nude island. Why the hell would they evacuate the nude island before taking this picture?


So it was off to the ARC for a Tuesday night workout. We have had membership at the ARC for years, but only manage to get in there once every 6 months...and I cannot remember ever having made it into the weight room. The weights were more like something you would find in the world's largest physical therapy facility. They have a machine for everything. Nicole was afraid of the various contraptions, and did not believe me when I told her all she had to do was 1) decide what part of the body needed work, and 2) find the machine with a picture of that part of the body. Instead she has hired a personal trainer. I think it is Fabio. No, I am not a jealous guy.

Speaking of Daylight Savings Time, now is probably as good a time as any to Update the World Clock.

Newport Beach

Next stop: Las Vegas, which evidently is on the same Time Zone. Hard to tell though, as casinos do not have clocks...

Las Vegas

Attention Crazy Women (yes, you and you): I am not Hans Wilsdorf.

Please stop asking me to fix your clocks.

I sure hope I don't get charged for busy signals...

Evidently, I made 43 calls to the French Laundry (before getting put on hold for 13 minutes).

As Nicole and I are not content with peddling a mere metric century in the Long Beach Tour de Cure, we'll also be doing a real century in the Napa Tour. How hard can 100 miles be when you can stop for wine every half mile?

We never ate at the French Laundry while we were living in Napa...I had just graduated, and $85 for dinner (9 course vegetarian tasting menu) seemed way too steep. Also, one cannot get reservations there anyway. (They book 2 months in advance, but that does not really matter, because they never answer the phone). In retrospect, $85 for dinner now appears to have been a bargain. I am very glad gratuity is included in that $240...leaving a $50 tip boggles my mind; actually I guess it would be a $100 tip, as Nicole would likely want to eat, as well. I wonder if gratuity is included on wine. Speaking of wine, their corkage is $50. How expensive of a bottle of wine do I need to bring to make that worthwhile?

So after those 43 calls and 13 minutes on hold, I got my name put on a waiting list for May 6th. I think they train the phone operators to sound surprised when there are no available reservations.