Represent.

Dear Venice,

I just took another stroll through your peculiar little streets and wanted to let you know how much I love you.

I once took one of those Jeep tours through Sedona with Kate, and the lady driving was from Michigan. When we asked her how she ended up doing Jeep tours in Arizona, she said that when she visited she felt like that piece of Earth was made for her. That's sort of how you feel to me.

Now that my days here are numbered, I'm realizing just how much I'm going to miss about you. I'm going to miss your hidden walk streets and their decorative doors. I'm going to miss watching the ducks and the little crabs in the Canals. I'm going to miss the beefy pit bulls and Leo the Flying Lion Pomeranian who struts around like he's somebody. I'm going to miss the chance alley encounters with the sweet smell of crack. I'm going to miss seeing Gandolf the White, an alleged former gynecologist, walking around with his staff and patriotic paraphernalia. I'm going to miss the old guy who's been learning to skate board in the middle of California and Electric ever since I moved in. I'm going to miss Abbot's Habit, the Townhouse, La Cabana, and Mao's Kitchen. I'm going to miss stealing nectarines in July from the house with the Ohio flag. I'm going to miss riding my bike through the middle of your main drag. I'm going to miss the girl who paints giant green creatures on the sidewalk. I'm going to miss your gentle homeless people. I'm going to miss finishing off my beer during a walk down the alley. I'm going to miss the Lantern house and the Gingerbread house and the Kitchy house and even our little ghetto house.
I'm going to miss your year-round flowers and the sweet smells that blanket your tall fences. I'm going to miss seeing your boardwalk come to life and watching it go back to sleep. I'm going to miss hearing the drums on Sunday nights drifting 7 blocks from the beach to keep time on my front stoop. I'm going to miss the understated letters that adorn your gateway. I'm going to miss the guys who makes a circle of popcorn for the birds and then does some sort of worship from the center of the ring. I'm going to miss the way you turn a predictable walk to the beach into a Hare Krishna festival with enormous floats and flower adorned pathways and free food for everyone. I'm going to miss your skateboarders and your rollerbladers and your Smart cars. I'm going to miss the posting of the Declaration of Independence hanging on the fences on the 4th of July. I'm going to miss the strange posters and stickers that show the extent of the quick wit and sharp sense of humor of your residents. I'm going to miss seeing if Nice Cream pushes Pinkberry out of our neighborhood.

Basically, I'm going to miss your weird little vibes and your weird little people. You are the best place I've ever called home.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

No, there aren't any lights sparkling off my eave. No, we don't have a Christmas tree twinkling in the window. No, the temperature hasn't dropped below 65 for more than three days in a row...

And yet, it's never been so festive outside. How could this be?

I don't know. Maybe this FREAKIN POINSETTA TREE that's on fire on my way to the beach is the culprit?!!

A Poinsetta tree... Wonders never cease.

Something to Be Thankful for

The day before the day before Thanksgiving it rained here.

The day before Thanksgiving I got out of work while it was still daylight and decided to stroll to the beach to see how it behaves after a day of rain. Here's what I found out.

They bring a dune's worth of sand to the beach in the winter to keep it from washing away and it makes a beautiful place to stare out at the ocean.

The tide surge looks like it doubles in size.

You can actually watch weather come ashore.

People can still swim in late November.

It practically rains rainbows.

In a lot of ways, I prefer the bad weather beach.