Gotta Love the Beach

I got to go to the beach twice this week, and that ain't bad. The first beach that we went to was Stinson Beach, up by Marin. It was a little windy, but we had a good time. Since everyone else seemed to be content to lay in the sun, I decided to have a little fun. I went to the beach with my cousins once, and they dug a big hole and the little kids just loved it. Since my good friend Gilda brought along the little girl that she nannies, Maybelle, I decided to do some diggin'.

I like to think that in this picture I'm telling her: "I know you are working hard, but can you see how much sand I have over here? I am doing a lot more work then you, so please try to pick it up." Harsh I know, but that is the only way they will ever learn.
What do you do with a hole? You sit in it.
Just kidding, we dug it a little deeper. As you can probably imagine, while we were digging I was peppering the conversation with little gems like "I bet we are half-way to China by now," and "now if someone is looking for us we can just hide right in the hole." That must be what we are doing here. For some reason kids seem to really like me, who knew?
This was a pretty fun little trip. Afterward Gilda told me that Maybelle was telling her mom about the beach and kept referring to me as "my friend Matt." It is good to have friends.

I also wanted to include this little gem from my most recent trip to Los Angeles in May. I went to the Getty with Kim and Lance (and young Harrison, no not Lance). You know what they say, you can either look at art, or you can get up there and try to freeze your body in the exact position that the statue is in. I got laughed at, sure, but performance art is legitimate, to legitimate to quit-imate. I title this: "Take the picture! and please try to get it right, my core is killing me."
Photo: Kim Williams

Ode to Blogging

I love you, but I hate you. I always want to blog, but I seldom find the time, what was once an exquisite escape from study-induced boredom is now a slog through countless pictures amid less-than-witty sayings.

Why do I blog? Is if for the adoration of my (relatively) many followers? The battle fought as words are wrestled from a chaos of sound and organized into cadences that depict thoughts and ideas, frozen in time? Is it because of man's great desire to leave something of himself behind, to carve his name into the proverbial tree, to jump into the great conversation if to only say "HA! I have nothing to contribute, but you are listening nonetheless!" (see: Hilton, Paris)? Many are the reasons to blog, to criticize, credit, complain or congratulate, but they all pale in comparison to the one and great reason that is to post awesome pictures, and hopefully, captions that can capture the thousand words that each picture represents and distill them down to a brief (and hopefully funny, deep or poignant) remark, cementing word and image, forever linked. Blog on fellow bloggers, blog on I say.

"Matt, through the burgeoning affects of long-awaited puberty, once and for all proved through outward expression his dearth of inner contemplation."

Niece and Nephews

I really want to post about what I have done this summer, and I have so much to post, maybe this little post will whet your appetite. I guess the thing that this family loves to see are the kiddos. These are all of the kids that I saw on my most recent trip, hopefully I get out to Virginia soon, it has been too long.

Here is little Mira, she is a real charmer now I hear, doling out smiles like no one's business. She is really getting into the fun stage it seems like now, smiling and laughing and grabbing. Pretty soon she will be in the "Matt is my favorite Uncle stage." It's coming.
These boys love juice. They remind me of a certain Buster Bluth. I can't believe how fast they were sucking it down. It is just Crystal Light, so no sugar (I am sure they will never get the sugar kind at Grandma's house, we never did). The Kool-Aid faces are the best though, that pale skin really brings it out. Not to mention the look of sublime enjoyment that young Ash-Bash is sporting.
Ollie looks like he is ready for more juice. His eyes are so intense. You just know that someone has a cup of juice and he can't take his eyes off of it. That is the eye of the tiger.
I think we all recognize what we like to call a burrito. Like father like son (eh Trent?). That is another story, but it ends with Trent tucking a blanket around Byron and saying, "this is what we call a burrito . . ."
At first he did not like it, but then he kept making me do it over and over again. Sounds like a Harrison to me.
I just think that it is funny that Harrison loves to be sitting in or on things. I should have gotten a picture of him playing with the laundry basket. Kid is a basket case, pun intended.