Getting Soxy in Seattle

As I was walking along the beach the other day, I came up with a simple, but BRILLIANT idea for a new Red Sox t-shirt: "I'm Dead Soxy". However, I Googled it merely moments later, and much to my dismay, it seems as though it wasn't as original as I had hoped. Back to the drawing board.. In order to quell my minor depression, I decided that I'd visit the hometown team itself to draw some inspiration from my dear Dirt Dogs, and boarded a plane up to Seattle where they'd be battling a 3-game series against the Mariners. While the Sox were certainly high atop my agenda, even higher was a pair of college cronies whom I shall lovingly refer to as 'Bacon & Eggs'.

I first visited Seattle about 2 years ago. Except it was March. And it rained. A lot. Contrary to my preconception about the weekend's forecast, I walked off the plane into 70+ degree weather. I was forced to acknowledge that this was not only warmer, but much sunnier than it has been in San Diego over the past month (fondly known as 'May Gray' in SoCal). Once I was quickly humbled, I opted to join Bacon & Eggs in taking advantage of the weather rather than indulging in the playful banter of "my city is better than your city". Before our journey to Safeco Park on Saturday night, we frolicked in the verdant scenery that encompassed much of Ballard. And, yes, we really did frolic courtesy of the energetic spirits of our companions, two Australian labradoodle puppies. Think wind-up toys with sharp nails. Jersey & Bailey tuckered us out so much, that we all took a 2-hour nap before BBQ & beer time.

Finally, the moment had come. Off we went to the ballpark. Through Pioneer Square and past Qwest Field, I saw it: Safeco Park. Now, I've always wanted to visit this stadium because of the spectator proximity to the bullpen. Fortunately, this was the only game of the series that looked to promise a positive outcome for the Sox. With that said, Jonathan Papelbon would inevitably finish the game. We scurried down for a spot flush against the fence that would allow us to get an extremely close-up glimpse of the closer with the crazy eyes. As I fought through several rows of people, I found myself pinned against the fence, less than 5 feet from my goal. It honestly felt orgasmic.

..Yet more importantly, I can now truly understand why Bacon & Eggs love their life in the Pacific Northwest.

Drinkin' Booze in Santa Cruz

As part of my California-state tour, I jaunted up to Monterey this past weekend to visit some friends from my Glory Days.. high school.  As an aside, I had a layover in Los Angeles.  I barely buckled my seat belt before we touched ground in the big city.. what a joke.  Apparently it is quite difficult to get a direct flight into Monterey.  This made a lot of sense upon arrival as the size of the airport equated to the size of my elementary school, if that.  Many visitors to Monterey actually fly into San Jose International airport and rent vehicles to complete the hour long trip down to the peninsula.. just an FYI.

Anyway, I digress.  One of our leisurely activities consisted of visiting Santa Cruz to enjoy some delectable mimosas and Bloodys at a classy, little joint called 515 Kitchen & Cocktails.  We had intended on sipping our suds atop a roof-deck boasting sensational views, however, Mother Nature had other plans in store for us.  No big deal, the goal of the trip was to enjoy libations, which was clearly inevitable.  As we entered the 515, we walked upstairs into the dining room and were greeted.. or judged.. by a 20-something year old host that treated us as if we were a gang of vagabonds.  When you enter into a restaurant, doesn't the greeting generally go something like "Good afternoon, how many for lunch today?"  Well, this Judgy McJudgerson didn't get that memo.. his interpretation was more along the lines of "Excuse me, are you looking for the restroom?"

HA, joke's on you, Preppy Paul.  Not only are we staying, but we're probably going to get a little bit inebriated and unnecessarily loud.. after all, it was a reunion of sorts.  And that it was.  

Moral of the story:  If you're in Santa Cruz, visit the 515.  They make a hell of a Bloody Mary.