Kristie's still upset from that morning, so we chat about that, and decide to start out day over again, right then. It's not the day that started at 4am with an attack of the empty kegs. It's not the day I did nothing but try to run an errand, which I didn't even accomplish, and now have to figure out if I should fight the insurance company for a rental car while my car is getting a new bumper. It's not the day I realized that no matter how shit my day gets, I feel the exact same way; that is, not at all. No matter how many times I will draw a crowd running into the ocean fully clothed; no matter how many times I have laugh parties in the parking lots of Vons before shopping for the salmon I'm making that night in exchange for Kristie's boyfriend letting me swim in his pool and soak in his bathtub and walk two minutes to the beach from his house; no matter how long I'm in Costa Rica or traipsing through San Francisco or driving around Los Angeles; I just do those things so I have something to say, which is what I've always done. The pleasure comes from the reaction, not the action.