…decided I wouldn’t watch the Seahawks; at least not the pre-season. NOW, part of this is, I admiot, because Pete and I are the same age. I might be a couple of weeks older. ALSO, fellow Boomer from the summer of 1951, TOM BURNS, told me he ran into Petey in the parking lot at Westport a few years ago. “WAIT,” Peter surfs?” “Yeah. He coached at USC. So, yeah. I didn’t make a deal out of it. He asked me if it was good. I said, ‘Well, Pete; here’s the thing… It’s Westport.'”

TRISH, huge Seahawks fan, though she can’t watch a game if her team is less than three touchdowns ahead (or so), agreed with me that the corporate overlords did P.C. (just testing some nicknames) dirty by dropping him for some younger dude, and agreed that she wasn’t going to be interested… BUT THEN, yesterday, she starts texting me about how this guy got a touchdown, this guy got an interception.

BUT NOW, a day later, today, TRISH had some cruel commentary on the new coach. “Man boobs. Eyeliner.” WHOA! “What’s his name again, Trish?” “I don’t know. It’s not Pete.”

“No.”

DOG DAYS, FOG DAYS- I’ve been scanning the cameras and computers looking for signs of surf on the STRAIT. NOPE. Not yet. I could go to the coast, perhaps, and… I am a bit tired of saying, “Next time, I’m going.” But, yeah; I’m saying it again. “Next time for sure.” It is house painting season, however; though I’d sneak out if there was a chance. Oh, I mean a better chance of waves.

NOT THAT I’M POLITICAL, BUT… I didn’t have the time, but I wanted to do a drawing of Don, Junior looking all, possibly, allegedly, occasionally coked-up, and saying something like, “I’m hoping Big Daddy’ll say I can be in charge of the DEA and, oh, yeah, that’d be so… sa-weeet!”

Don don’t surf. Hopefully you’re getting some waves.

I’ve got to work on some writing. “SWAMIS” is not done. As with surfing, I have been thinking about a few changes I should make.