We spent hours planning our meals and arranging gear in the packs: camp stove, wool socks, well-stocked first aid kit, water purifier, kitchen sink, and so on. We stopped for lunch near the trailhead after a five-hour drive, and my camping buddy (the Eagle Scout) had a sudden outburst: “OhmyholymotherofjesusCRAP!”

I jerked around to see what had happened; he just pointed to his shoes. Or rather, to his moccasin slippers.

“I left my hiking boots at home.”

3:30 p.m.

Why I like Molly: Molly and I rode the Fulton 5 home from Bay to Breakers. We sat next to two young men, one was missing a front tooth, the other had moved past intoxicated into catatonic stupor. Our toothless friend (let’s call him Uncle Jebb) introduced himself, and tried to draw us into conversation while we ignored him.

(Uncle Jebb begins touching Molly’s back for no apparent reason.)

Molly: …What are you doing?

Jebb: You had some fuzzy things on you. I was getting them off.

Molly: Hmmm. (Continuing conversation with me) blahblahblah.

Comatose Carl: Mmfmmffph.

Jebb: No dude, we’re almost there. If you’ve gotta hurl, hurl out the window.

CC: MMfffmfmMMPH!

Jebb: Dude, you’re not getting off.

Me: Jesus, if he has to hurl, let him out.

(Uncle Jebb and I have a brief verbal exchange, edited for length.)

Me: Molly, do you want to move, so he doesn’t boot on you?

Molly: I work with kids all week, I’ve had much nastier things on me than a little puke. I can shower.

Me: OK

(Jebb begins touching Molly’s back again.)

Molly: OK. You need to stop touching me now.

Jebb: OK.

Molly: Thank you.

3:27 p.m.

Greg? Uh…. Greg?

“A year is a long time, and I can’t help but think that I should be doing something new. I don’t know what it is yet, but it should be something new.”

Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!

And thus, my favorite blogger grows out of blogging. Thanks, mister. I had so much fun.

2 p.m.

Two great words I won’t remember in a week:

chivy–to tease or annoy with persistent attacks

desiccate–to drain of emotional or intellectual vitality

11:40 a.m.

Years ago, I worked at my campus newspaper and used to get letters from inmates. (I think there’s a law that allows them free postage to write the press.) The letters were all written in pencil, and many of THEM had RANDOMLY capitalized WORDS, which the author further emphasized by going over them again and again until there were word-shaped holes in the page. Every inmate wanted a female pen pal, so they provided vital stats:

“I like romantic evenings with a beautiful woman where we could go on a picnic and listen to some Tini (sic) Marie. I also like to visit museums, like the La Brea Tard (sic) Pits.”

Wistful now? You wish you had an inmate penpal of your very own, don’t you? Well, I’m here for you. Jail Babes, “A Pen-Pal and Singles Introduction Service.” Enjoy.

10:17 a.m.

Another reason to read more international news: “Monkey Man Hysteria Grips New Delhi Suburbs” “‘It was a monkey alright, and about four foot tall, but as soon as I grabbed it, it turned itself into a cat with tawny, glowing eyes,’ the newspaper quoted a resident as saying.”

Update: This article has pictures!
“Deepali Kumari, from Noida, said: ‘It has three buttons on its chest. One makes it turn into a monkey, the second gives it extra strength, the third makes it invisible.
‘He touches a lock and it breaks. But he is afraid of the light.'” (via MetaFilter)

11:18 a.m.

Conversation with my three-year-old nephew, Trevor:

Me: What do pigs say?

Trevor:…ahh…. Oink! Oink!

M: What do dogs say?

T: Bark! Bark!

M: What do elephants say?

T:…aaah….prrrrrbt!

M: What do Trevors say?

T: PLEASE!

2:52 p.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

Subject: Summer jobs.

Excerpt:

The first thing I found out about selling cars is that the dumber you are,
the better. These women come up and say, “What’s the difference between
these two convertibles?” So I say, “This one has 190 horsepower, and this
one has 170 horsepower.” And then they say, “But this one is purple.”

3:47 p.m.

So this guy dies in his rocking chair. Papers keep being delivered, the grass keeps growing, the neighbors are getting pissed. But no one realizes the guy is dead until four years later when someone buys the house at a delinquent taxes auction and finds a corpse in the living room.

10:08 a.m.