Chianti vs. Chowder

Back from a week in Italy. Cool place if you are into great wine & food, beautiful women, another level of ice-cream & espresso, soccer, and art & history. Otherwise, the trip confirmed what we all know is basically just another over-rated and expensive country on a crowded continent with an attitude (fair enough, the 10 course birthday meal washed down with a bottle of Barolo in a medieval wine cellar in Siena on Mardi Gras night was pretty memorable).

Here's one for posterity. This photo makes me want to laugh and cry all at once:
http://www.iwcoffice.org/sci_com/workshops/CLIMATEworkshop.htm

As if these trips aren't cruel enough, the next meeting is in Madeira in June. How's that? Obviously the people in charge are not surfers. Although while in Italy, I did get to hear some funny stories about Dave Rastovich showing up at last year's Whaling Commission meeting in Santiago with mermaid-model wife in tow (of course I miss the one meeting with hot wives and waves). After demonstrating his anti-whaling protests to the Japanese delegates (something in there about his wife wearing an aquatic tail and little else, while being paraded through the room on a table hoisted up on Rasta et al's shoulders), he invited some Aussie scientist/surfers to charge a crazy nearby slab with him. Some guys have all the luck.

Back in Seattle, I managed to set a record for the month of February with 5 hours sleep. Glorious. Then up early, and wasting no time, headed out to Westport with Jer and scored some fun overhead waves. I was thanking my lucky stars that it wasn't huge and managed to do OK out there for the first hour, but then the jet-lag and everything else caught-up, and the wheels fell (flew?) off. Did I mention that I grabbed two left booties in the dark on the way out the door? That didn't help my cause either. The bottom line is, if you aren't catching waves up here this time of year, it doesn't take long to get cold. So I proceeded to get really fucking cold. So cold and exhausted by the end that I was forced to concede that I could no longer get to my feet (much less feel anything below my knees, or my two left feet) and rode my last wave to the beach on my belly. This act would have been more embarrassing if not for the other 95% of people in these parts that also 'surf' in this position.

Lucky for me and my encroaching hypothermia; hot clam chowder and whiskey are to the PacNW what chianti and prosciutto are to Tuscany. Nothing against the latter, but I'll take the cold waves and the chowder anytime.