Yes, me again.

I would like to preface this post by saying that I hate to post twice in a row (for both your sake and my own personal pride)...however the others are engaging in yet another episode of BBC's Horatio Hornblower (apparently quite good) and I was left to the task of relaying our conversation that took place while waiting for Anne's amazing apple and peach crisp...I almost omitted the peach part for alliteration, but what is a blog without honesty?

A recap: Cannery life as a horror film. Five young tour guides living in an abandoned boardwalk village, inhabiting barely a quarter of the rooms in an old hotel, six kilometers away from the five hundred member community of Port Edward. No cell phone reception, an older watchman living on the site, huge cannery buildings and many smaller ones are perfect for an epic knife chase or quiet hanging scene. There was much debate, but basically it was decided that Anne or Susan would die mysteriously, possibly followed by Lu or Paul, and I would survive until the end (unsure why, I was pouring my tea and therefore unable to argue this role). Spider, the watchman, would be the prime suspect, but in the end it would be happy go-lucky Steve, our manager, who would be found guilty. The tension of being the middle man between the tour staff and the board would be too much, or the lack of salmon steaks on the café menu a travesty too awful to bear. To clarify...none of us are living in the haunted room...and Spider hosts barbecues with fresh caught fish...and Steve and Liz have campfires with amazing food. So Hollywood may have to look elsewhere. But then again...

Moving on, I think I feel as though (for Laura, as she is reading this I am sure) I should hit some key points about today. Anne saw a light brown bear on the road this morning, I ate blueberry puffed wheat for lunch, Susan was overwhelmed by her protein packed meal, and it is now my bedtime. Oh, and yesterday I went on a biking/running/garbage hoarding adventure (Leah may understand...running always = garbage hoarding) that left me displeased with the concept of getting out of bed this morning. Such a nice feeling.

The sun is high in the sky, the clock has struck 8:23, the tide is heading out, and alas I bid you goodnight...or perhaps farewell. Who knows what the various cannery ghosts think about our screenplay?