I saw two seagulls swooping over the parking lot at Albertson's this afternoon. It was a sight appropriate to the feeling in the air. The heat and damp reminded me of the atmosphere a mile or so inland from the beaches of Los Angeles on a summer day. On the way to the beach, that last mile was always the most difficult, the close-packed cars crawling toward the last line of hills beyond which the view of the gleaming, heaving, sea-green horizon would open and the cooling sea breezes would dissipate the smell of exhaust fumes, bringing in its place the dank odor of salt and seaweed and fish and the fresh oil which had seeped from the offshore fields and would wash ashore as clumps of tar. I don't think I ever went to a beach in Los Angeles or Orange county from which I did not return with at least a few little smudges of tar on the bottom of my feet. I miss that.
Right now, I'm writing in the client, and Sluggo keeps showing me a blue screen telling me that the current application will be shut down, but it hasn't shut down yet, so I'm bulling through. I doubt I'll be able to post before letting the Slug cool down for an hour or so, though. Whoa, there's the fourth blue screen. Stupid machine.