Back to Palo Alto

The flight to San Francisco only took 14 hours (I guess prevailing winds are a wonderful thing) and I was through Customs and picking up my bag before 9am. It was touch and go for a bit; they have automated machines at SFO to collect your information before you hand your passport to a person in a bulletproof vest, but for some reason the camera and the flash on the machine weren’t playing nice. It kept taking a picture of me so over-exposed you could almost make out my pupils and jawline, and nothing else, and then complained that the picture wasn’t clear and would have to be taken again. Technology, I love you.
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Tacos by the pool

This evening we had a Mexican dinner at a friend’s condo. They have a Mexican restaurant in their complex – well, a bit more like a Singaporean idea of a bodega, I guess, serving tamales and jarritos and tacos. They gave my wife a burrito as big asa her head, and I had delicious but very messy tacos, each slightly larger than my thumb, but I kept scoffing them and sinking beer and gin until it was time to retire.

Like an idiot, this was on top of an early evening birthday celebration of very strong microbrewery booze – this century’s response to homebrew is artisanally crafted IPA that blows your head off the next morning, although since there aren’t enough hipsters with beards here, it gets served to you by random aunties in aprons instead. Plus ca change, huh?

Does this life ever become normal, or is this how it will be for me from now until the end of time? Not complaining, just curious…