A Flying Visit to Atlanta
I arrived safely at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta. Or Hotlanta, as the locals call it. I’d finally made it to the South, something I’d always wanted to do.
I arrived safely at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta. Or Hotlanta, as the locals call it. I’d finally made it to the South, something I’d always wanted to do.
A snippet of Santa Cruz, CA.
I followed in the footsteps of Sir Francis Drake who landed at Point Reyes in 1579, albeit in a 20-year-old Honda Accord instead of the ‘Golden Hind’.
Last weekend’s Midnites for Maniacs was an evening devoted to the work of French director Jean-Pierre Jeunet. I’d not heard his name prior to last week, but now I’m a big fan.
I could wax lyrical about loving three day weekends (and I do!), but here’s three other things…
I received specific instructions from the Range Master to be early. Not on time, but early. He knew me too well.
I left for the range at the crack of sparrows. I was running late, no breakfast, wet hair. I pulled out of the driveway and drove against the traffic whilst listening to the dulcet tones of Ira Glass.