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2002-03-26 11:25 a.m.

Tonight I am going to have dinner with Adam and his parents. His mom invited me over because her best friend is visiting from Oregon, and she has brought her 19–year–old daughter Amanda with. And I know how well you and Amanda get along, she said. I always enjoy hanging out with Amanda when I join Adam for his family vacations at Clear Lake each summer.


I snuck this snapshot of Amanda while she and I were dining at the most elegant restaurant in the entire Clear Lake region—the Foster's Freeze in Lucerne.


Last summer, we taught Amanda to pump gas for the first time. Being that Amanda is from the great state of Oregon ("The Opportunity State"), she had never pumped her own gas before. This is because Oregon's government realizes that its inhabitants have no skills, money, or intelligence, and therefore the only jobs available for their ilk are jobs pumping gas. So, you are not allowed to pump your own gas in Oregon. If you pump your own gas, it is the same as stealing morsels of food from a poor, hopeless, starving Oregonian.


I really enjoy my time at Clear Lake. Not only is it beyond fun, but there is tons of stuff to photograph. Here I stand in the lovely town of Clear Lake Oaks attempting to understand the enigmatic body language of Hot Dog Man.

The dinner invitation reminded me a lot of being a little kid—the time of when parents always invited kids over if they played nicely together, and they would invite over the parents of the kids who their kid got along with. Life seemed so simple, and the algorithm for choosing who would be at the birthday party was clear: Do the kids get along well enough that they do not engage in behaviors which actually cause one another to physically stop living? And the parents needed only be barely alive to get on the guest list. It appeared from my observations during these young years that even being on life support and unable to recognize the presence of the outside world would not be enough to get any parent of a friendly child uninvited to parental social gatherings.

But, I am happy to hear that others feel I play nicely with others—I feel so lucky to be invited to the birthday parties and sleepovers.


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