I'd like to thank everyone for a good time in San Francisco. It was really nice to meet all those gentle people all in one place. The picnic ruled. I prolly shouldn't have worn my doc martens. Too hard to run to get a dog bitten frisbee. Shout outs go out to - Bill for letting me know and taking me to the second show. I'd like to thank Kayla for the ticket, and the picnic. The person who brought the sinister cake. Not for how it tasted, but for how fertile the subject was to exercise wit. Economist conversations over orange frappes and coffee. Renee Foucalt It was the last time I felt normal since I was at the airport, September 11th. I checked in for my 8am flight and the woman behind the counter was talking about a fire at the Pentagon. I got on the internet and my friends were talking about lower Manhattan being gone. The airport bar was the only place with a TV, so I did the only sensible thing, sat down and ordered a Guiness. I'm back now, in New York. The trip back brought me through Yosemite, Tonopah, NV and Salt Lake City and towns with a population of 164. Clear air and desert mountains that are actually farther away than they appear. I bought twine beaded jewelry from a punk chick who wants to be a deisel mechanic. I heard stories about the blood feud between the Cambells and the McDonalds from a real live Scotsman, kilt and all, with the similar problem of trying to find a decent drink in the middle of Mormon country. I ate meat served from swords. I found bleached bones in the desert. Talked about the Bouncing Souls crushing bottle caps with a blue haired boy. A snowboard chick remembered me from eating raw fish. The trip back was really amazing, but the reasons for the path chosen unfortunate. John