babyblue

And so I return from a vacation that was far too relaxing and thus ended far too quickly. Sunriver was beautiful in that way that only the dry desert climate can be, and the water was better than anything bottled or filtered. Ah, mountain water. How I love thee. Next time we're totally bringing empty gallon jugs and filling up as many as we can.

The cabin was very cute, and the hot tub had about a gajillion jets in it to pelt your skin and muscles into submission. There were two Mary Poppins-esque bikes which we bravely took out once for a spin around Sunriver, but their inability to change gears made hills rather difficult. I haven't had to pedal backwards to brake since my first two-wheeled bike with the pink and white streamers and the banana seat.

The show on Saturday kicked all the ass. Beginning with the Decemberists, they befuddled the crowd into applause with their lengthy tales of Turkish prostitutes and seafaring woe. Death Cab for Cutie was next, and their set consisted almost entirely of the new album, except for their opener. Ben's voice carries quite well live, and they do well in amphitheater settings.

But, leaving both bands in the dust, the Pixies fucking rocked. No, wait. They FUCKING ROCKED. Like, a lot. They sounded great, high energy, the crowd was into it, and until the last couple of songs, we managed to steer clear of annoying drunk people. Never fear, though, for they found us, and flee we did for the grassy hills away from the stage. Drunk people, especially large amounts of them, can ruin a good time very quickly for this girl.

The rest of the trip was spent lazing around the cabin, eating delicious meals prepared by EnergyChannel, and just generally ignoring reality and enjoying ourselves as much as possible. Hedonism is a wonderful thing if you can pull it off.

So, hello, real world. I'm back. Harold is very happy about that. Me, I'm still deciding.