Last weekend, J and I took Friday off and drove five and a half hours south to Lompoc, California. C was getting married and I was the “best man.” This is an upgraded status. Normally, I’ve promised myself to be a better man.
Friday was the rehearsal and dinner, but it was mostly hanging out in the remote and scenic ranch that the two families had rented.
Even abandoned gas prices are goign up.
Lompoc drive in recycling center.
The excitement of impending marriage.
A joke rubs the wrong way.
Baby horse. I kid, I kid.
Kim chi and crème fraiche.
Saturday morning, the gang from the Embassy explored the snowy plover coated beach near the naval base. There was an Amtrack station by the sand, seemingly being used only by the birds.
From inside the shed.
Piers and naval weapons test hillside.
Is this the stop to Shell Beach?
The hover boys.
Fields of choke.
Sadness of everyday.
Thrift store marketing.
After lunch, we went back to the ranch for the ceremony and reception. I gave the first toast, coaxing the laughs out of the audience with ease. I can work the room when needed.
On Sunday, we camped for the night at Tree Bones Resort in Big Sur. Our tent overlooked the ocean and surrounded by birds and tiny rabbits.
Field of Greens.
J in a train car diner.
Entrance to a working drive in movie theater.
Our campsite over the ocean.
The view from our tent.
Our dinner overlooking the ocean.
I need four day weekends more often. Like sugar or The Arcade Fire, they are necessary for a happy life.