3 … 2 … 1
I don’t quite understand the new Sin of Cortez commercial running on cable, though I dig the grub and the service of the joint. The visual aspect of the commercial is innocent enough—people eating food and enjoying themselves—but the voiceover is pure adult entertainment. As a female announcer tells what an enjoyable experience the Sin offers, the whole thing takes on a very pay-per-view feeling.
After a mixed bag of Christmas, my wife and I headed down to cozy Dillon Beach in Marin for some R&R. We arrived, with about 50 other Chico freaks, and spread out to four different houses located along the coastline. Each house had its own name: the Hell House, the Hippie House, the House of No Blame. Our house was shaped like a Long John Silver Restaurant. It was hard to not stand next to the portholes and yell, “Arrrgh, who goes there,” at anyone who walked by.
We got there at 2 o’clock on Dec. 30. At 3 o’clock the lights went off in each of the houses on the beach for almost 48 hours. That is to say, no hot shower, no hot food, no TV, no stereo and no hot tub. The locals said there was an accident at a turkey farm. I learned a lot about myself and even more about how much certain people in Chico know about ‘80s rock songs.
At 10 till midnight on NYE, the lights flickered on, and the large assortment of us headed to the shore, where we took off our shoes, counted down and ran into the surf. Everyone made a wish for somebody besides themselves. And at that time, dear readers, I realized that, while troubles may never cease, we must never stop praying for peace.