Damn if Cayucos isn't made for looking. Eye-candy to fit proclivities of all kinds and tendencies. What you like? Huh? What?
Well, its here in Cayucos. Today was incredible. The weather perfect, you couldn't get better. An offshore wind blew this morning on the waves. It made them rise and spray whips of whitewater behind them on their march to the sand. Surfers glistened seal-black in rubber suits made sleek with foamy ocean water. They bobbed on boards for a wave to ride, like sea birds that sat nearby.
Families came to celebrate the day. Dogs, kids, teenagers, young, old, and all wonderful. All so happy as well as us. Prince Albert and I enjoyed an early morning walk, breakfast followed by hanging at the beach house and then another walk on the shore to town. We had a pitcher of beer before walking back to the rental. Wally spent some morning time outside watching the parade of beach goers. We had bloody-Mary's, French-Apple sausage with mouth-watering fresh peach waffles and cantaloupe. He really enjoyed his time in the sun overlooking the beach. It's a beautiful view, you can't see anything bad. Morro Rock to the left, and the town's lights at night on the right. And then there are the sunsets. Incredible.
Today is our last full day and then it's back to L.A. Maybe so, but we too will be back here as well.
Stories from living in Los Angeles
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Life Is A Beach
Envision a classic beach house. A kind of sophisticated shanty, where sand and wood meet. There is a fireplace in the center of the living room, on both sides of the fire are large tinted windows that show a completely unobstructed view of the sea and sand. And at night, the twinkle of village lights from Cayucos, on the other, Morro Rock jutting so high from the beach it has it own micro-climate. A cloud of mist encircles the top of the great rock with blue sky all around.
The sliding glass door is open allowing a cool ocean breeze in. It mixes well with the sound of its serf, a fireplace keeps us warm, comfortable and brings the magic back of of days as a teenager huddled around a fire pit at the beach with friends toasting marsh-mellows on sticks.
A writer's retreat, a dacha, where you can't do much of anything else except walk on the beach and write your thoughts upon return. I haven't walked on the beach yet, but I sure plan too. And that's the rub. How do you fit a lifetime of leisure into a week? There are no phones to answer, no mail to read or garden to tend. There is the beach, the fireplace and a view. Life is a beach.
The sliding glass door is open allowing a cool ocean breeze in. It mixes well with the sound of its serf, a fireplace keeps us warm, comfortable and brings the magic back of of days as a teenager huddled around a fire pit at the beach with friends toasting marsh-mellows on sticks.
A writer's retreat, a dacha, where you can't do much of anything else except walk on the beach and write your thoughts upon return. I haven't walked on the beach yet, but I sure plan too. And that's the rub. How do you fit a lifetime of leisure into a week? There are no phones to answer, no mail to read or garden to tend. There is the beach, the fireplace and a view. Life is a beach.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Writer's Retreat At Seaside
The mini-van is gassed up and ready to go. On Sunday morning, if all goes well, we will be heading for the central coast for a week at the beach at a seaside home. I can't wait, and Wally is doing much better. He had a problem two weeks ago, I think pneumonia and so did the Urgent Care doctor but he showed a possible bladder infection. In either event, the anti-biotic they gave him killed the grass beneath his feet it was so strong.
He is doing better than he has in months, he is breathing better, walking better and more awake. The doctor, and she was a beaut, and real sharp, said to put some Gator-aid in his water. It helped a lot with his awareness of things, he was low in certain electrolytes and the Gator-aid has helped with that. Then we both had our bi-annual skin burn. Liquid Nitrogen applied freely on every area of our body that sees daylight. That's due to white skin. Why people want to be born white I have no idea, because when you age, that white skin molds. Seriously, that's why cave dwellers stay in caves, they can't take the sun and they're all white.
But a week at the beach to write and read and read and write. Take walks, go to the local tavern and find some chit-chat with a villager, it all sounds delightful and fun. More later on our great adventure.
He is doing better than he has in months, he is breathing better, walking better and more awake. The doctor, and she was a beaut, and real sharp, said to put some Gator-aid in his water. It helped a lot with his awareness of things, he was low in certain electrolytes and the Gator-aid has helped with that. Then we both had our bi-annual skin burn. Liquid Nitrogen applied freely on every area of our body that sees daylight. That's due to white skin. Why people want to be born white I have no idea, because when you age, that white skin molds. Seriously, that's why cave dwellers stay in caves, they can't take the sun and they're all white.
But a week at the beach to write and read and read and write. Take walks, go to the local tavern and find some chit-chat with a villager, it all sounds delightful and fun. More later on our great adventure.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Vatican States People Hump
Amazing, and all along I thought everybody did it. The variety of sex alone would make you think everybody does it. Hell, you don't need another person to do it. Just a private moment and Whoopee, a moment's pleasure--a mischief.
I don't get it. God, for those who believe in Santa Claus and other fables, is so controlling that he can't let a creature have a little pleasure? And yet, among other animals, besides ourselves, sex with something happens constantly. Like Spot humping his Master's leg. It's a fact that among living creatures like ourselves, there is more sex and more variety of sex that occurs. Yet God wants you to, 'save it' for that special moment when only you and another 'save it' person meet, and by powers vested in rituals, can now unite and have sex. I guess Beth and Bud get up after fucking themselves sick and shoot Spot for humping the furniture.
I mean, do these people really exist? Ever? Because that alone would put Darwin into jeopardy. They should be extinct long ago if, in fact, there are people who are virgins waiting around for magic rituals so they can fuck. It's kookoo.
Now, what about the nuns? What about those clits waiting, ever pure, married to a god? That's heavy. Does the Holy Father want to go there? What do you do with all the nuns who lust of carnal knowledge? They've whipped themselves, scrubbed floors to rid themselves of clit pleasure. It didn't work of course and now the male hierarchy will discuss, not only penis pleasure but clits as well.
It's a new day and a new sheriff is town. If you value your life, when a preacher comes a knockin', run for your life. The greatest lie ever told is about gods and that they are real.
I don't get it. God, for those who believe in Santa Claus and other fables, is so controlling that he can't let a creature have a little pleasure? And yet, among other animals, besides ourselves, sex with something happens constantly. Like Spot humping his Master's leg. It's a fact that among living creatures like ourselves, there is more sex and more variety of sex that occurs. Yet God wants you to, 'save it' for that special moment when only you and another 'save it' person meet, and by powers vested in rituals, can now unite and have sex. I guess Beth and Bud get up after fucking themselves sick and shoot Spot for humping the furniture.
I mean, do these people really exist? Ever? Because that alone would put Darwin into jeopardy. They should be extinct long ago if, in fact, there are people who are virgins waiting around for magic rituals so they can fuck. It's kookoo.
Now, what about the nuns? What about those clits waiting, ever pure, married to a god? That's heavy. Does the Holy Father want to go there? What do you do with all the nuns who lust of carnal knowledge? They've whipped themselves, scrubbed floors to rid themselves of clit pleasure. It didn't work of course and now the male hierarchy will discuss, not only penis pleasure but clits as well.
It's a new day and a new sheriff is town. If you value your life, when a preacher comes a knockin', run for your life. The greatest lie ever told is about gods and that they are real.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Gumbo Feeds Gaza
With temperatures hitting triple digits, tomatoes in Gaza have ripened to perfection. Prince Albert proclaimed he would feed the kingdom with shrimp gumbo. A trip to the store for crab, shrimp, spices and okra while a pot full of tomatoes cooked on the outdoor stove, made the whole hood crazy with the aroma of Cajun cooking. The Muslim Brotherhood next door, the Jews in Little Israel on our other side, had to deal with the flavors of good home cooking going on in Gaza.
This comes after their feast days of Ramadan and Rosh Hashana. And of course they're pissed. Once the smells of cajun gumbo float by, there is no going back to mutton and garbanzo beans. It's a known fact that Cajun food will turn you into a shrimp lovin', crab eating heretic of Middle Eastern foods.
We filled our bowls with rice, then ladled over mouth-watering cajun sauce brimming with creole sausage, crab meat and shrimp. With warm crusty French bread to sop up the juices, the bellies of Gazans filled out to plump tightly stretched barrels.
Tomorrow, chili verde with fresh tomatillos will stew until tender. It is enough to make a rabbi want to eat bacon after smelling tender pork pieces simmering in homemade chili verde. Let alone send a burka-bitch on a quest for pig meat disguised as goat.
This comes after their feast days of Ramadan and Rosh Hashana. And of course they're pissed. Once the smells of cajun gumbo float by, there is no going back to mutton and garbanzo beans. It's a known fact that Cajun food will turn you into a shrimp lovin', crab eating heretic of Middle Eastern foods.
We filled our bowls with rice, then ladled over mouth-watering cajun sauce brimming with creole sausage, crab meat and shrimp. With warm crusty French bread to sop up the juices, the bellies of Gazans filled out to plump tightly stretched barrels.
Tomorrow, chili verde with fresh tomatillos will stew until tender. It is enough to make a rabbi want to eat bacon after smelling tender pork pieces simmering in homemade chili verde. Let alone send a burka-bitch on a quest for pig meat disguised as goat.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Shootout at Critique Circle
Have you ever been on an Internet writing forum? My experience is similar to a Samurai suicide where you insert a dull blade into the lower left portion of your belly, tear up to your chest, turn right, cut across and allow your guts to spill on the floor.
Not many do it anymore because something more painful than that is available. Writer forums are the new in of painful deaths. The added plus is there is no mess to clean up. All the blood and guts are eaten while alive. So simple!
I had a review of a chapter on a place called Critic Circle. Wonderful place to bud out any masochistic tendency. And here's the bonus, you pay to have it done. How masochistic is that! Actually I've a number of chapters from the book I'm working on posted there. Not one, has gone by without some bozo reviewing it. I did meet a few people who gave good critics and we had worked together but for some reason, they took summer seriously and opted for vacations or surgery. Who else but a writer would have surgery in August.
So there I am stuck with one critic from a guy who broke down the first paragraph into musical beats, with a graph that he couldn't explain, with the words translated into beats. Gee, interesting but huh? Then he decided not to go any further. Why? Well, the dialog between two characters who are high school dropouts, heavy dope smokers, dead-end jobbers and called each other dude made him think I was one of them so no reason to critique further. Obviously I was in high school with a limited vocabulary and why should he bother finishing the critique.
It cost me three points to post the chapter. That means about three critiques I have to wade through to make three points. And I do a good job with high marks for my critiques. I go to a forum and bitch about the quality of the critiques at the site.
That opened a can of worms by a Candance. That's her name on the board. Shrew is her real name and she proceeded to call me a bully and everything else you can name Satan. Nothing about the quality of the critiques given. Not a fucking thing, apparently a bad critique at Critique Circle is a good critique. Just drool something and send it back for a point, why bother to read what someone else wrote.
It may have turned out okay, it forced me from my comfort zone and in search of someplace to hang my hat. I did and ended up at Scribophile. They have more than one, gay and lesbian group there. They have a strict policy about critiques and from what I hear from the members, they do rid the rotten apples.
But, I haven't turned over the money for membership yet. I'm still on the freebie side of things. That's what worries me, once they get the moo-la will they throw me to the clowns?
Not many do it anymore because something more painful than that is available. Writer forums are the new in of painful deaths. The added plus is there is no mess to clean up. All the blood and guts are eaten while alive. So simple!
I had a review of a chapter on a place called Critic Circle. Wonderful place to bud out any masochistic tendency. And here's the bonus, you pay to have it done. How masochistic is that! Actually I've a number of chapters from the book I'm working on posted there. Not one, has gone by without some bozo reviewing it. I did meet a few people who gave good critics and we had worked together but for some reason, they took summer seriously and opted for vacations or surgery. Who else but a writer would have surgery in August.
So there I am stuck with one critic from a guy who broke down the first paragraph into musical beats, with a graph that he couldn't explain, with the words translated into beats. Gee, interesting but huh? Then he decided not to go any further. Why? Well, the dialog between two characters who are high school dropouts, heavy dope smokers, dead-end jobbers and called each other dude made him think I was one of them so no reason to critique further. Obviously I was in high school with a limited vocabulary and why should he bother finishing the critique.
It cost me three points to post the chapter. That means about three critiques I have to wade through to make three points. And I do a good job with high marks for my critiques. I go to a forum and bitch about the quality of the critiques at the site.
That opened a can of worms by a Candance. That's her name on the board. Shrew is her real name and she proceeded to call me a bully and everything else you can name Satan. Nothing about the quality of the critiques given. Not a fucking thing, apparently a bad critique at Critique Circle is a good critique. Just drool something and send it back for a point, why bother to read what someone else wrote.
It may have turned out okay, it forced me from my comfort zone and in search of someplace to hang my hat. I did and ended up at Scribophile. They have more than one, gay and lesbian group there. They have a strict policy about critiques and from what I hear from the members, they do rid the rotten apples.
But, I haven't turned over the money for membership yet. I'm still on the freebie side of things. That's what worries me, once they get the moo-la will they throw me to the clowns?
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Gaza In August
There has been changes for us this August. Prince Albert has built his castle, and I might add, quite cheery and inviting. The greyish curtains now are pulled back by black tassels, giving the windows an inviting look. The walls are bright with the lower section on the wainscoting still navy-blue, but with the larger white area above, it has a sea cabin look to the whole thing.
Prince Albert likes his castle and is content building great warriors with magic weapons for his conquests of ether worlds. Gaza has help now for Wally seven days a week. It has made a big difference in the quality of life for us all. And harmony, there is life here once again with people who like living in Gaza and with each other. Golden Boy now an ugly, fading memory.
The garden is bearing all manner of produce, grapes, tomatoes, squash, both yellow and buttercup, peppers, cactus pears, which are pretty good in a morning meal. The girls are almost through their molt, their coop cleaned, the garden tidied, the heat not too oppressive. In fact, damn good for August, and I'm hoping stays that way.
There is a tropical storm heading up the coast, with a little luck it will stay on course until coming inland here and giving us a good soaking. We all need a good soaking now and then.
Prince Albert likes his castle and is content building great warriors with magic weapons for his conquests of ether worlds. Gaza has help now for Wally seven days a week. It has made a big difference in the quality of life for us all. And harmony, there is life here once again with people who like living in Gaza and with each other. Golden Boy now an ugly, fading memory.
The garden is bearing all manner of produce, grapes, tomatoes, squash, both yellow and buttercup, peppers, cactus pears, which are pretty good in a morning meal. The girls are almost through their molt, their coop cleaned, the garden tidied, the heat not too oppressive. In fact, damn good for August, and I'm hoping stays that way.
There is a tropical storm heading up the coast, with a little luck it will stay on course until coming inland here and giving us a good soaking. We all need a good soaking now and then.
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