Another weekend, another road trip…

Seriously, I will be so glad when September comes and these consecutive summer weekend adventures go the way of all flesh. I’ve already outlined last Saturday’s wrenching travel ordeal (see previous post); next Saturday is the big RUSH rock & roll show with The Last Boy Scout; Saturday after is a friend’s wedding and pool party reception (shame I don’t drink any more) and a visit from my big brother (not Alberto Gonzales, my actual older sib) on Sunday; weekend after that my Spiritual Advisor and his girlfriend are planning a visit; weekend after that it’s the in-laws’ monthly drop-in to bask in the cuteness that is The Man Cub and the weekend after that is September, when we will be officially informed by acting President David Petraeus that the war in Iraq will extend to infinity and beyond.

That’s a full summer, even for someone who likes going places and doing things.

Again, I don’t happen to be a person who likes to a) go places or b) do things. Helped keep me single for 40 years. So this summer is ending with both a bang and a whimper. (The whimpering sound you hear is me…)

All that aside, our family unit had a lovely time celebrating The Missus and my fifth anniversary by taking a walking tour of The Big City down the road today. Best of all, we took a train to get there. See, I have this thing about Johnny Cash, and Johnny had a thing about trains, and I was thrilled to be able to share the train-riding experience with my son while I still could the way Cash wrote songs about sharing it with his.

Plus, freeway traffic in and out of The Big City is nothing short of apocalyptic if you don’t travel before 9am or after midnight on the weekend. The in-bound freeway was a goddamned parking lot for miles as we fled for home at 3pm. I was never happier that Amtrack is still a viable transportation option (although I was frankly taken aback at the lack of security before boarding the train, especially after the ordeal of air travel just the weekend before). That’s another big plus about traveling by rail – not enough Americans do it to make it a high-value terrorism target, so you can still run up to a train on no notice, hop on, and buy your ticket once you’re on your way to your destination.

Up yours, Osama!

Crazy, baby. We sat on the second floor in a comfy, semi-deserted car and watched America drift leisurely by our picture window.

Once at our destination, we took in some science place The Missus was hankerin’ to take the boy to that featured live critters in captivity (like the starfish exhibit, above) as well as lots of dead, taxidermied ones to remind us that all of our time is fleeting. Went to the Drake Hotel restaurant and had a $10 hamburger for lunch then walked till our feet had worn down to our shin-bones. Got on a bus that took us to the train that took us home, whereupon we all collapsed in exhaustion in air-conditioned comfort.

On the one hand, it was no Comic-Con; on the other hand, it was also no Tucson, Ariz. And exhaustion aside, nary a cross word passed our lips the whole time (read: I was not an asshole to anyone but strangers on the street, always fair game, see left) and the three of us had a wonderful time that couldn’t be beat.

This could definitely be a model for anniversaries yet to come. Hopefully, next time we’ll travel to a city less impressed with itself; still by the sea but with less dirty hippies and fewer upwardly-mobile self-appointed hipsters per square foot. For instance, I hear San Diego is nice this time of year…