I couldn’t title this post “Catching Up” because I’ve fallen back on that idiom twice before. I’m sorry for neglecting you, Duolab. A lot has transpired, but I didn’t take down notes and can’t even manage a glut of adjective-laden anecdotes like I did in July.

I know I meant to write about backpacking in August but kept putting it off because I hadn’t processed the photos yet. The trip was fantastic, aside from the concussion close-call we had towards the end. Gorgeous lakes, shitty instant soups, shittier lasagna, miles of strenuous marching, foolhardy cliff traversals, whiskey, and counting shooting stars from the comfort of a sleeping bag atop hardy grass. I kept repeating “the chitinous staccato of grasshoppers and sinewy crackle of knees” in my head as we hiked out because I meant to write some flowery prose about all the sounds (or lack thereof) we wrapped ourselves in, but I think I’ll just leave it at that. Here are the visuals.

I visited San Diego for Megan’s wedding and then again a couple weeks later for the annual Bike Bar Tour. Both trips were awesome. I miss San Diego. I miss burritos and biking everywhere.

Fall was beautiful. It’s hard to describe the feeling that washes over you as the air turns crisp and the leaves flush with color before accumulating on the ground. I keep straining to sample random smokey accents laced through each breeze. Living in San Diego for six years has definitely made me appreciate the foothills more.

And now it’s snowing.

Its fall again, many of you might have noticed. And being in San Diego during this time of year has once again been a let down. I miss the seasons I used to get living in Northern California. The mornings I’d wake up to wet roads and cloudy skies. Or the nights the howling wind and heavy rain would wake me. I miss wearing heavy clothes too. I didn’t think I’d ever say that. Enough weather talk.

A few weeks ago I took a seemingly unexciting spill on my bike and ended up spending three days in the hospital with a ruptured kidney. My parents flew down and my mom took care of me for a few days afterwards. Making me meatloaf and pies until I told her to stop being so motherly and fly home to take care of my dad; he’s useless at taking care of himself. Nothing bad came of the injury to my kidney, other than the doctor taking away my riding priviledges for 6 weeks.

Jordan and I have been looking at renting a house down in South Park. We got word that we’ve been approved for a place a few blocks from Hamilton’s and The Whistle Stop and will probably be moving in the next couple weeks.

Work has been fairly mundane. Although I do get to go to CES again this year in January. If anyone wants to meet me in Vegas for my birthday buy a flight for the weekend of the 10th and 11th.

I flew the coop. I left San Diego. The mourning process was exhausting, and I miss my friends already.

I’m in New Zealand now, and things have been fantastic so far. We’re staying at a quaint motel in Thames—a tiny town just south of Coromandel—and I should make this quick because it’s late and the free wi-fi is spotty.

Auckland is pretty and reminds me of Vancouver—lots of tall, modern buildings and fobby asians. Even though I’ve only been a passenger so far, driving on the opposite side of the road was quite unsettling for the first day. My cousins are great, and the bars and clubs they showed us make me miss North Park (RIP Scolari’s). King’s Cup has slightly different rules here, the drinking age is 18, and you can drink on the street or in a car if you’re a passenger. Bars stay open all night. Gratuities do not exist.

It’s warm and humid here, but I’m enjoying it because the snow that greeted me as I drove to my parents’ house in Norcal was a pain in the ass. I’m already a bit sunburned, though—the ozone layer is thin down here.

Things that are disappointing: Comic Sans on shop signs, no turning at a red light, and fat people. (The fatties are preventing me from pretending that this is Europe.) Also, it’s pretty heartbreaking to see dead hedgehogs on the side of the road.

Onward! I’ll probably groom this post later. Maybe.

This is the worst thing I’ve seen all weekend.

Scolari’s Office is being sold to the owners of Bar Dynamite. It will close in two months and undergo renovations for three to six weeks. After that, I can’t imagine ever seeing the same shitty bands, lowbrow crowd or fantastic drink prices there again. Picture a single tear gathering in the corner of my eye before silently sliding down my face and dropping onto my lap.

(A special shout-out to the octogenarian we saw there before the end of 2007 with the hairpiece, stunna shades and portly El Cajon streetwalker.)

PS: It’s not actually the worst thing I’ve seen all weekend, jeez. That honor should probably go to the 60 Minutes report on rape as a weapon of war in Congo.

Last Thursday night Mike, Wu, and I stopped by Josh’s place near SDSU to help out with a Happy Graduation keg, but we only managed a couple rounds of flip cup with the youngsters before the police came and ‘encouraged’ our departure. From there we headed to the Waffo Boutique grand opening, which was surprisingly fun. The DJ was all about Daft Punk and Justice as we enjoyed the open bar and tried to avoid getting beer foam spit in our face by the rowdy bar wench.

Saturday night was a blast, too. Every house party should have a tiny parrot content to spend the night on various strangers’ fingers.

There’s an anxious energy about North Park as the Georgia girls count down the days before they initiate the Great San Diego Exodus, and we’re doing all the usuals this week before everyone heads home for the holidays. Monday night we enjoyed what might have been the second-to-last Lady Dottie show at Tower Bar—rumor has it that they won’t be back in 2008. Last night, after my company party downtown, the crew assembled for karaoke at Scolari’s. Of course. Good job, team. Good job, singers. See you at Live Wire tonight.

New Year’s Eve in San Francisco is going to be epic. I’m looking forward to the drive up with the guys—Nobel Manor, united!