The Bush

Getaway Day. Off to Florida, Tampa again, this time for the filming of the (rather famous) St. Anthony's Triathlon. The big names will all be there working for a big early season payday, as well as about 5,000 age groupers. There is even a special class called Elite Age Groupers that start after the pros but before the (evidently) general triathlon rank and file. Should be a fairly easy shoot, if there exists such an animal, or if I can use "easy" in this context. I probably shouldn't, because as we have seen, and to quote Ian Anderson, Nothins' Easy. Da, da, da. And I am now expected to produce no video short of perfect. St. Anthony be with us.

We caught the 0520 with ease, RG was even early, cruising down the dark drive at 0415 as I was stumbling down the stairs with feet that felt like they had just walked over a bed of coals. Going to try Nu Skin upon return. We visited Daniel at Dennys and had the usual French Slam preflight meal, then headed across the street for the TSA ritual and leg one to Houston. These folks have the audacity to name this zoo after a Bush. Get this liberal tree hugger the heck outta here, please. On the flight I managed to catch a few pages of the latest Mens Journal (Harrison Ford on the over) between notes to self on the iPhone and a conversation with my neighbor on the aisle who had just returned from Kauai and had some helio video. He was interested in RCVs and the technology, so he earned one of my new business cards. Serious bad breath tho bro. There was a great feature in MJ about Ayahuasca and Sapo, two H-drugs from the shamanistic jungles of Peru (back in the serious bush). Here is a sampling that I found particularly well crafted and full of the type of truthful humor only pending pain can elicit:

"I could hear Hairo singing a particularly lilting melody that sounded soft and wet and all about sex. The pussy passage, as I called it, and it held somehow my personal history of love-a tone poem of ecstatic triumphs and cruel abandonments, the wake of hurt feelings and tears an ordinary man leaves in his career as a prick."

That, my friends, is a beautiful dosing of naked truth. This airport, however, is not. Hence, it's name I guess. Time to get to Tampa.

And, bad news department, I forgot to pack the cable that connects the iPhone to the MacBook laptop, so this will be a text only trip. Further, I have less than 24 hours after return from St. A's and our road trip departure to Wildflower, so I will try to load all the photos next Tuesday. I know you are holding your breath. And just so you are in the media loop, I like St. Petersburg way more than Houston (even though I have alraeady changed hotels). Yes, there is irony everywhere, I am staying right across the street from Busch Gardens.