Ah, finally, my first post. I'm home alone with my kids watching Formula One practice for the French Grand Prix. There is some jackass racing up and down my street with open headers on what sounds a hobby race car. I love racing and the sound of race cars, just not on my street.

I live in Pacifica, California. Best classified as a town, it's about 10 minutes south of San Francisco on Hwy 1. We live about half a mile from the ocean. It's a beautiful place when it's not foggy. We get just enough of those days to keep us here. Actually, what keeps us here are our incredible, irreplaceable friends. We are part of a network of what has grown to 10 families, all with children roughly the same age. You just don't find people or neighborhoods like this anymore (at least not in California). If you find yourself saying that you also live in one such neighborhood, count yourself lucky. I honestly can't imagine living without any one of them now.

Pacifica certainly has it's downside. Aside from the fog, this place is run by the remedial. We don't have much of a tax base due to poor city planning. The commerce we have exists as an interesting dichotomy. The fixed businesses, such as restaurants and stores are nice enough. We have a wicked huge (and newly remodeled) Safeway. There are a couple of good places to eat. Our favorites are Nona's and the Corral (mmmmm..... steak....). The organic food store is great and the pizza at Viva Italiano pretty much rules. However, on the flip side, the service industry here absolutely sucks. You name it: hauling, gutter cleaning, a tree service, a contractor. You literally have to BEG these folks to take your money. Often times I have hired people from San Francisco just because they were more responsive, friendly, and seemed to care about their customer. It's not like it's boom times down here either (except for maybe contracting). But hey, this is also the town in which you can keep any number of decaying vehicles on your front lawn, but aren't allowed to keep a perfectly good working vehicle parked on the street for more than 3 days. This is also the town in which the police department has absolutely no time or resources to enforce the speed limit on my street (that's a different post, the litany of reasons is worthy of Karl Rove) but when I called in a single vehicle NON injury accident, 8 cars arrived within 5 minutes. The geniuses on the school board have decided that we should have open enrollment, giving no preference to children who reside in the neighborhood (can you say "moronic"?) and thusly we must endure the traffic jam created by parents driving north to drop their kids off in my neighborhood, while parents battle through that traffic to drive south to drop their children off in the neighborhood of the aforementioned parents. Mind boggling really.

I shouldn't complain, at least not too much. I have a family too wonderful for words, kids who are much to cute to be my own, and a wife who's love and devotion to me is beyond compare. Pacifica, with all of its warts, will certainly seem like nirvana compared to what awaits at the end of my trip tomorrow. It is the eve of my departure to one of the last totalitarian states on the planet. Belarus. The poster child of the former Soviet Union, a favorite of Vladimir Putin and anyone longing for the old days of state run media and bread lines. I notice that when I navigate to Minsk using Google Earth, the entire landscape is brown. Rusty, dry, hot, depressing brown. It's about 100 degrees Fahrenheit in Minsk right about now. It aint a dry heat either. Our office there lacks air conditioning, a dispute with the landlord over who would pay for such a luxury. I'm only going to be gone for 5 days, but I'm not a great traveler (like my lovely wife). I'm a big guy, a little overweight, but not fat. I'm big boned dammit (a little Cartman reference for the masses). I dread the tiny seats, the poor bastard next to me perpetually angled off like a misplaced Tower of Pisa as my shoulder span invades his personal space. Oi. This time, I have handfuls of Ambien. I plan to medicate myself into suspended animation and hope to arrive to chilled martinis made with the finest Belarus has to offer. My 4 star hotel is situated on the edge of the Belarussian version of Central Park. That's handy as I have a half marathon coming up on July 30th that I need to keep training for.

I think that's probably enough (or too much as it were) for a first post. As I sign off, I'm just hoping to make it back. What with the G8 in St. Petersburg, the Middle East in rapid decline, and W up to his usual tricks, I can't help but feel like I'm living in Rome circa 476 if ya know what I mean. OK, so I'll most likely make it back. One good thing about a police state; it's well policed. If all of these clowns just did more running, they wouldn't be so pissed off. They wouldn't have the energy.

Peace.