To start, Highway 17 can get fucked. What an awful road. I feel like driving on that road would be similar to the experience of driving around in the devil's nutsack. The bottle neck on a Sunday afternoon is no fun and it tested our resolve in ways that no person should have to deal with. Yes, I'm complaining like a Vietnam veteran except I'm referring to an afternoon drive to Santa Cruz. Hilariously horrible comparison, eh? It doesn't matter- the drive sucked balls. That is all you need to know.
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| This came up for my Google search of "gridlock traffic." Much better than Highway 17. |
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| This kid was in line for every ride we wanted to go on. |
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| What, bitches!? |
Then there was the obligatory "we have to go get corn dogs" to which Dick Tracy and I added tall cans beer. I wouldn't eat them all the time because I enjoy keeping my heart valves unclogged, but corn dogs and beer from the boardwalk are quite the satisfying snack. For good measure, I got an order of garlic fries to make sure everyone enjoyed my breath for the rest of the day. (We of course all ate garlic fries in order to not have just one person in the group with breath that could kill a vampire.)
Dick Tracy and I wandered into the arcade and found the drum simulator. Essentially, you pay $1, then pick a song. There is no guide like in "Rockband" or games of that ilk. You just play electronic drums how ever you want. I'm pretty bad at drums, but that didn't stop me from queuing up STP's "Plush" and Filter's "Hey Man, Nice Shot" for my attempt at mimicking Neil Peart. I'm sure it was awful to listen to, but I had fun. Of course, a young kid was up after me and absolutely destroyed some Ozzy Osbourne. This kid was the shit! I was semi-joking about starting a band with him, but he probably thought I was an awful musician based on my drum performance. Well played, random kid!
In the end, we all went to the wharf to eat dinner. I decided on fish and chips and they were tasty. I never get sick of dipping food in condiments. Tartar sauce, cocktail sauce, ranch, mustard, brown mustard, honey mustard, ketchup, sweet and sour, soy sauce, etc. They are all fantastic- not all for fish and chips, obviously, but I'm now specifically referring to my love of condiments. I can easily become sidetracked when talking about condiments...
The drive home was still a pain with moderate bouts of traffic, but in the end, we made it home safe and sound. It was a tiring, fun and successful trip to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. The End.
[Closes Book]
[Sighs]
5 comments:
Highway 17 is the fucking worst. Depending on when you go, you basically get either grid lock traffic or drunks doing 60 around hairpin turns. Death or boredom. There is no middle ground.
I would love to do the Madden-spin in public places, but can't because 1) I would look like a dork and 2) I would spin into a very large, extremely unamused man, spilling his generously portioned beverage of choice onto his equally well portioned muscles, which would then tear me into pieces even smaller than I already am. Instead, I settle for spinning around corners and furniture at my house.
Your ending made me think of the scene in Return of the King when Frodo finishes his book. A fitting end to an epic journey.
We definitely saw some questionable driving on 17- especially on the way home. The SUV with a large kiss lip mark sticker in its back window was probably not sober.
I'm glad my blog writing incorporates shades of Tolkien. I'm pretty sure that is a fair and appropriate comparison.
Was it worse than your 90 minutes turning into 4 hour drive home from when we met up and watched football in SF? GO REDSKINS!
I'm just going to remind you that I met The Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase on Saturday night AND I made him laugh. Your move.
I was just thinking about when we met up in SF because someone cited the Redskins/Packers game as the one game that Donovan McNabb won by himself for the 'Skins last year. That drive home was awful, but at least I got to listen to the ENTIRE Giants playoff game on the radio. The drive in to Santa Cruz rivaled that trip, but I don't think it was quite as bad.
I have no move after your Million Dollar Man story. I fully enjoyed the story (as I mentioned in the comments on your site) and believe it was one of your greatest posts. Checkmate, buddy. You win.
I am officially making it my long term goal to buy some swanky house on the ocean in either Aptos or Capitola and retire there with Mrs. Tracy. I freaking love it there. Put it in the book 20 - 25 years from now I will be living on the ocean and sipping Jack whilst listening to the waves breaking.
The boardwalk seriously had the market cornered on shitheads. Between mexican gangsters and white supremacists I haven't seen so many turds since I worked at the main jail. Good people were most definitely in the minority there. The corn dogs and the Giant Dipper made it worth braving all of the parolees, probationers and the future criminal children they had in tote.
Dinner on the wharf was fantastic. An excellent jack and coke helped my ever so slightly spicy bucket of cioppino go down. So damn good.
Side note - I met and worked for Vince McMahon when I worked for the XFL. Not the million dollar man, more like the multi-million dollar man! He was pretty much an ass though...
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