Calvin & Hobbes are back in the local newspaper again. That'll give me a splendid reason to even bother opening it up in the first place.
I obtained a new digital camera, recently. Considering my obsessive picture-taking habits, natural talent, and developing experience and skill, I determined that I needed to reach higher up the technological ladder for something that would better suit my needs. 2.0 and 3.0-megapixel digital cameras are already being left in the dust by the new 8.0-megapixel models, and I find that either of the former don't quite enough live up to my passionate photographic aspirations. Considering the 8.0 models are way out of my budget at the present time, I decided to compromise and browse the 5.0-megapixel models. While looking at Costco Wholesale's selection, not much time transpired before I fell in love with one. Konica Minolta's Dimage G500 wears a rugged-looking metal exterior painted a sleek titanium color with chrome trim, and is no larger than, and roughly the same shape as, a pack of cigarettes. Needless to say, it's one of those compact cameras you can slip in and out of your pocket. I truly admire the 1.3 second start-up time, and that there is no clip-on plastic lens cover to have to remove and have dangle uselessly while taking pictures, as with my mom's haphazardly designed and ultimately migraine-inducive Nikon Coolpix. The $350 price tag exceeded my budget by a considerable amount, but after looking over the rest of the selection, nothing else appealed to me nearly as much. As Costco makes it so easy to return products, and the model I quickly became so enamored would might be out of stock by the time I returned, I decided to go ahead and get it. Of course, I had to add the cost of a 256 mb SD memory card, as the included 16 mb card simply wouldn't hold many 2592x1944 resolution pictures. As I hold it in my paws, it just feels so exquisite... worthy of accompanying me on all the adventures I plan to take it on ... as rugged and durable as Benecio, my mountain bike, and Lou, our dog. I've determined that it's a male, and his name is Troy. That could be a problem for a little while--when I ask someone here if they've seen Troy, they'll tell me they haven't been to the movies in months--but I feel the name simply suits his appearance.
I purchased Troy en route to the southern realm. My father and I drove down beyond South Point to the same spot we camped at for a few days in January. We ended up camping down there for the same number of days this time, simply enjoying the utter isolation and sweeping beauty the remote realm so offers. "Our" spot appeared to be the finest spot to call home for miles. The ground is soft, the shade is luxuriant, and the breeze is gentle--a rarity in a realm of windswept grassy plains set upon loess and seemingly endless fields of crumbly, jagged rock. I spent a good many hours laying upon our foam flotation device in the inlet besides our camp site. I especially enjoyed paddling out there in the late afternoon, when the tide is highest, the afternoons are pleasantly warm, and heavy dark clouds roll off the mountains to the northeast, obscuring the sun. Contrary to my mother, I'm not one who particular enjoys excessive direct exposure to the sunlight. Of course, after nightfall, I found myself gliding about beneath the full moon, mostly by bicycle, as the conditions were so conductive for it. On the first night, I cycled the 3.5 miles to Green Sand Beach. As surreal as it looks during the day, it looks simply majestic on a moonlit evening. No one was there, of course, as no one was around for miles and miles, so I made my way down the steep slope and onto the sandy beach, and meditated beneath the stelliferous night sky for awhile. The natural formations surrounding me were aesthetically delightful, making the place all the more pleasant to be. I even went so far as releasing myself from my burdensome fabrics and jumping into the ocean as my dog sat on the beach and watched, rather intimidated by the waves crashing so raucously. I cannot imagine how life would be if it weren't for such experiences as these, these moments of simple incredible passion, ecstasy, and liberation. Would it even be worth living at all? I'm not so sure. It was just too difficult not to succumb to the familiar lupine temptation on an evening such as that.
The next day, we all returned to the beach, and it seemed rather 'plain' to me after having just visited it when it was draped in splendiferous moonlight. Besides that, four or five humans were crowding the beach, and that was too much for me. I wandered around the cliff some until I reach my own secret little secluded pocket. It's just as sandy as the main beach, but much smaller and more difficult to access, leaving it isolated virtually all the time. I enjoyed myself down there as I spent quite a bit of time hunting for sizeable olivine crystals--that which makes the sand appear so green. I came up with a fair amount of them and brought them home with me to admire.
It's one of the last uncorrupted places on the island. I hope it stays that way for awhile longer.
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