Self at Forty-One

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Last night we celebrated our Anniversary (a little bit early because of the unpredictability of my schedule for the next week). We spent the day farting around San Luis Obispo, doing our bookstore, healthfood store, Natural Cafe, etc. thang. It was cold and blustery and alternating sun and rain or both. It was wonderful.

But best was dinner at The Sea Chest.

This little joint is right on the water on Moonstone Beach. They don't take reservations or credit cards, so be prepared for a wait at the bar. They provided playing cards, cribbage boards, and a whole wall of National Geographics. The place is smallish, and the interior is maze-like and dark and wooden, like the inside of a ship. It's not at all cheezy, though. It feels legitimate- like everything they do, they don't try too hard. It's a seafood place, so hey, lets make it look like one. That's all.

The mood is serious, though. Upbeat, laid-back, but down-to-business. The menu is basically:

Here's what they caught today- salmon, sea bass, thresher shark, tuna.

We have some lobster and some crab.

If you want an appetizer, you can have clams, oysters, shrimp, or mussels.

Everything is served grilled with lemon and butter and a pile of fresh, organic vegetables, also grilled.

Add a bottle of wine and you're off to the races.


The kitchen is at the back of the bar, so you watch it all happen. No one has room, so they dance around each other in an intricate, effortless ballet. Hiss...the fish hits the pan. Drizzle butter, lemon. Flip, flip, plate it.

Done.

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We had a huge pot of gorgeous mussels. Like eating little vaginas in butter and garlic. They must have given us two dozen in this big pumpkin colored Le Cruset kind of pot.

Then a plate piled high with salad greens and dressing.

I had the salmon and Yolie had a scampi/scallop combo.


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That meal was on par with the best sex I've ever had.


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I had to be carted out of there.


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Oh, yeah. The Castoro cab....


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I don't know how I got so lucky. My wife is a singular catch. She is endlessly fascinating to me, a never-ending wonder. I'm like a dog around her, I just want to stare at her and follow her from room to room. When she walks by me I roll over on my back and wave my arms and legs, hoping she'll rub my belly.


And sometimes she does.


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The other night I was dreaming and two of the dead women whose cases I'm working on showed up.
They just stood there, kind of off to the side, watching me.
They were just like they'd been found: half-naked, bound, stabbed.


They didn't say anything.


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It makes sense that I would dream of them. I mean, it would be weird if I didn't, right?


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I also had another one of my "Japanese Hotel Elevator" nightmares.


They go like this:

I'm in Japan with my wife and kid and we're late to leave for the airport and I've got to check us out of the hotel. I'm in the underground parking area and I have to take the elevator to the lobby. I get in, all alone, and the doors close. The elevator lurches up quickly, then accelerates steadily. I watch in horror as the little floor annunciator over the door spins wildly. The elevator is rushing up so fast that I am being slammed to the floor. I know that I'm going to die in the elevator when it hits the top of the building, but it never does. Instead, it stops suddenly, throwing me up into the air, and then heads down again.

Faster and faster.

Now I'm hovering up near the ceiling, trying to find a hand-hold or something to keep me closer to the floor.

It just keeps doing that, up and down, up and down, as I grow increasingly terrified and beaten up from slamming into the floor and ceiling.

You'd think I might notice at some point that this is pretty unusual, and also kind of familiar, and that it must be a dream.



But this insight escapes me.


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My wife got me a Wacom tablet a while ago. I'm trying to figure it out.


I think I'm gonna like it.

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