nags of a similar ilk

After the tournament, Lyndsay (and her roommates) hosted the team (and other teams) at their house in Santa Cruz. As a sidenote, the house (the downstairs being all I had really seen of it) was great, with the grounds spectacular. They have a tightrope made of nylon strapping that was quite entertaining to watch people use.

In the car on the way over, Andy drove me, Steffi, Andy Fisher and Heather over to the house. We used the navigation system in my car, which means we didn't go the most efficient way to the fields. As a matter of fact, we ended up stopping at a slew of stoplights, driving down small streets, and meandering through the neighborhood in a most circuitous way.

At one of these particularly annoying stoplights, I turned to see a couple walking along the sidewalk beside the car. The couple were both heavyset, with glasses and a slouched appearance. They walked arm in arm and seemed quite happy together. Someone, it might have been me even, made the comment that people tend to attract those similar to themselves: ultimate players date ultimate players, Techers date Techers (okay, no one said that), sporty people date sporty people, that sort of thing, leading to the comment that slightly overweight people date slightly overweight people.

The couple, then turned the corner. As they did, I started to roll down my window. Everyone knew I was going to say something to the couple walking by, the timing was too close for anything else.

And so I did.

"PULL UP YOUR PANTS!"

The guy was walking along with his pants in the style of today's youth, with his pants' crotch in line with his knees. His steps were abbreviated. I find the look incredibly retarded, stupid, inefficient, ugly and dumb. Yes, I repeated myself with three synonyms - that's how annoying that look is. Worse, that look will be back around in 20-30 years. Argh.

After my call, the guy pulled his arm from around his girl friend and lifted up his hand. I, and everyone else in the car, expected the usual response, and the response I certainly would have given had I been in his place.

I expected the finger.

Instead, he reached down, and pulled up his pants.

We were dumbfounded.

The light turned green. Andy accelerated through the street intersection, and we all burst into laughter.

The guy had actually pulled up his pants. Unbelievable.

Okay, today, it's raining.

Unlike the weather we actually had yesterday afternoon, we experienced the weather we were supposed to experience last night. We went to Andy's mother's house for dinner, after a quick stop by the Trader Joe's which was spitting distance from the hotel. Andy's mom lives in Montecito, an expensive suburb of Santa Barbara, on top of a hill. Even with clouds, rain and the wind whipping around, threatening to send very large branches down into the hottub we were sitting in (the hot hot hottub, mind you), the views were spectacular.

Moving our stuff to the car was wet. The way over to breakfast was wet. The walk from breakfast was wet. The way back to Andy's was wet. Fortunately, we were moving slowly, enjoying the day, so wet didn't adversely affect us.

Brynne went up to her Dad's place, the first part of her drive back to the Bay Area. Originally, she was going to take Kris and Heather up, and I was going to continue south to L.A. However, those plans assumed I was in Santa Barbara to coach at an ultimate tournament, which was partially cancelled due to lack of playable field space. So, instead, Brynne went north to her family's house, while Kris and Andy played a little Guitar Hero, I used some local wi-fi, and Heather futzed with her laptop which had died two days before.

Eventually, our CF subsided and we drove up to Brynne's dad's winery to meet up with Brynne. I figured I had some time before heading over to Paul's place, but I hadn't counted on the CF factor when I made that decision. So, the four of us, Andy, Heather, Kris and me, drove up to meet up with Brynne. Whoo, we saw a rainbow. More importantly, I met Brynne's dad. Yay!

The vineyard was, as Brynne said, naked, with no green on the vines or grapes, but still awesome nonetheless. I love farmland, vineyards and orchards. Something about the large space and growing food that makes me happy. Organic version of these are much, much better.

Andy and I drove back to Santa Barbara when Brynne, Heather and Kris went north. Not sure which one of us will arrive in our destination first. Me? I'm off to visit Paul.

I think I should be nervous.

I'm not.

Alex and I met on the wind swept streets of Santa Barbara, neither of us quite realizing what fast friends we'd become in one short day of drinking. Thick as thieves. We're like THAT! Yeah, just like that.

The day started off cold and windy. Oh boy, was it windy. My damp, freshly showered hair dried within minutes of stepping out of the car to wait for the rest of our crew to show up. Alex's girlfriend introduced herself first, Alex second, his hair whipping around his head like a rat running on speed.

He played it coy at first, sitting in the way back, far far away from me, in the van. I knew better. A few sips here, a few tastes of wine there, and he'd be talking to me in no time. Hey, what do I know? It took only two wine tasting rooms to convince him I was the greatest writer he'd ever met. Only TWO! Can you believe it?

Here, look, my new best friend, Alex.

A dollar says he's annoyed at me for this entry here. Hi, Alex!

P.S. Hey, world, Alex ate my pears. Either that means he's as weird as Kris for liking the gritty, mushy things, or he's my best friend ever. I haven't quite decided.

We start the day

First wine tasting room

Highlight from the first wine tasting room

Second wine tasting room

Highlight from the second wine tasting room

Third wine tasting room

Highlight from the wine tasting room

Lunch!

Fourth wine tasting room

So, yeah, Kris and I are here in Santa Barbara with Heather and Andy and his friends Alex and Kirsten (hi, Alex!), to spend the day hopping from wine-tasting room to wine-tasting room, all in the name of celebrating Andy's birthday. I know, I know, you're thinking "Andy Crews?" Normally, sure, but not today. That's a birthday camping dog extravaganza weekend (Want to come? You're invited!). No, today is Santa Barbara wine tasting.

But first, we need to leave the hotel.

And before we leave the hotel, we need to not get hit.

Kris, Andy and I were standing in the parking lot with the tour company driver who would be driving us around town. We were chatting about nothing in particular, but probably something close to how thrilled I was not to be the last person ready, when a woman approached us and asked if we would please move over. I looked up at her, perplexed. She wanted us to move, so that she could pull out of a parking spot two cars away from us?

"I don't want to drive over the curb," she explained.

I looked from her, to her Highlander, back to her, back to her Highlander, and loudly stated, "You want us to move so that you don't have to go over a curb in your HIGHLANDER. Your S-U-V. Your SPORT UTILITY VEHICLE. One DESIGNED to go over rough spots? OHHHKAAAAAY." I gathered my jacket, and stepped over two car lengths, and watched the woman attempt to pull out of the spot. She nearly hit us again, despite our being so far out of the way even the tour driver had to watch in amazement of her inability to manuver her vehicle.

We laughed over the incident, only to nearly be hit by another car who pulled into the parking lot a couple minutes later.

After car number two pulled away, the tour driver commented, "I'm going to stand over here. I don't know if I want to be around people who nearly get run over that much."

Can't say I blame him. We haven't even started drinking. Not the he knows the full story.