I’m still skeptical about all of this sunshine and happiness hooha. But, there’s not much to bum me out or piss me off these days. (Well, I will be performing tonight at an Open Mike Showcase at Rooster T. Feathers. That should help add some counterbalancing darkness.)

Somehow getting pissed off at the lack of story in falling into gainful employment quickly seems a bit disingenuous. And, complaining about clear, blue 70-80-degree days does as well. (Especially when almost every email/call from back home in the Northeast mentions the weather. The cold, rainy not very Spring-like let alone almost Summer weather. All I can say is HAHAHA, I guess I picked a good time to vamoose.)

On top of soon to be employment and sunshine, for the first time in what seems eons, I have rocking Memorial Day plans. We’re heading to a ranch not far from Yosemite by way of Jackson and Sutter Creek in the heart of gold rush country. M.’s coworker was kind enough to invite us and a few others for the weekend.

Apart from enjoying natural scenery, hopefully not getting mauled by a bear andeating what’s supposed to be a kickass Sunday brunch, the big event will be (and I mention it mostly if this guy sees this post) shooting guns. Yeah, bleeding heart, gun control liberal that I am, I’ll be staying at a place where the owner saw fit to set up a shooting range. Maybe I’ll enjoy the cold steel of a .22 and the subtle kick of a small caliber (or however the fuck that works). They tell me a dainty chick like me can’t handle the force of the big guns. Fuck that, man, hand me the .45.

Unfortunately (or I guess, no, really quite fortunately), no one in the group is much of a drinker, so I won’t be whooping it up in Hunter S. Thompson style.

At the very least, if in the future I opine about yahoos with guns and gun sports, I’ll be talking from some place other than completely out of my ass.