One of the weekend highlights was dancing to the powerful strains of Wipeout coming over Hoyt Lake, snaking up the bike path walkway, and up the curly-q bridge to where Laura and I were walking across, with umbrellas.
I shouted Laura, you know how much I love this song ... and danced atop the bridge, enraptured - as always - with the song's raucous jubilance.
Even if performed sans drum solo, as was this Surf Daddies rendition.
Great guys, know them, but no Wipeout solo.

Minding my own business, as is my diurnal wont, situated my own self in the BigU's Stobba (my new special easy name for Starbucks) to edit&burn.
Next to a guy just lost in thought, staring out the window.
Thought the weight of the world sat on the bridge of his nose.
Girlfriend pregnant. Primary Day worries (hey, go vote. now.). Bombed an exam.
Who knows.
But suddenly he looked over and then rustled his own self together and left.
Yours Truly did not realize that her little earbud plug was not fully pushed into the MacBPro so everyone in my vicinity was being treated to Band of Horses.
A grand thing.
Quickly I meliorated that situ but Mr. Weighty left.
And behind me, as Pandora was firing up, I heard some unbearable corporatespeak behind me. A phrase that I do not wish to spread along.
Another guy near me has a mac with the shiney happy screen and YT is oso glad to not have that model, extra contrast or not.
We photogs prefer an E surface.

Time for edits and making pixel magic.

YT Voting for Love, Love.

++ And happiest birthday to one of my big Loves, Rio, today.
And always.