Sandy Ego

"I could never live in Arizona. There's not enough excitement there," stated the elder half of the couple that sat next to us at the seaside coffee shop in La Jolla. I was already a little bit bummed that the coffee came in paper cups, the cheesecake was frozen, and I'd shown a little table-rage when an outside seat opened up. But I was really in the best of moods, beginning to forgive myself. The lady in green took her place at the table that I had previously been at, with her sweater only a shade greener than before. I stuck my legs out of the iron bars that divided the cafe from the traffic-packed street. I made a point of looking hard out onto the water, to make sure the lady knew that I really appreciated my new prospect, and hoped she would feel a little generous because of it. I turned my head and made eye contact with the man. "Hey, we're from Arizona." I can't remember much of the rest of the conversation, other than that he tried to justify his remark by stating that when he referred to "Arizona," he was really talking about "Gilbert," and that he was mostly concerned about the water supply. "Well, you've got us there," said Casson. A bike ride from Carlsbad to La Jolla and back was just what we needed this last weekend. The coastal highway is a constant stream of speedy cars, family vehicles, elastic bikers, and long distance joggers. It's awesome! Only in California can you be out of spares, get a flat tire on your bike, look up, and see a bicycle shop across the street. Just make sure you go cross at the light, because the fine for crossing the Coaster tracks is something like $1000. Only in California can you see people crossing the said Coaster tracks in broad daylight. Actually that only happened once. The thing about the lack of spares/looking up/appearance of bike shop probably only happens once, too. But these things do happen.