Kin and I took another RV trip this past weekend. We have managed to take the trailer our every month we've owned it — with the exception of January, when it rained so hard and flooded so badly that the RV park we'd reserved called and told us "We aren't closed per se, but if you were to cancel, it'd be okay an we'd give you all your money back." We went back to Rio Vista this weekend, which is very very close, so Kin can work a full day on Friday and we can still be parked and fully set up before dinner. (And we can also be dismantled and back in Oakland by early afternoon, which then somehow feels like we have a whole bonus day of relaxation.)

It was "peak week" of my half marathon training — I was scheduled to run 12 miles, but the route that I'd planned through Rio Vista actually took me into a gated community. And while — "running while white" — I was perfectly safe and unassuming, I was wildly uncomfortable and missed a turn that the GPS signaled. So I came up a tad short on the distance: 11.67 or something. (I wrote a bit about this over on Substack's new Notes feature — which I quite like, right up until the point that the boys running Substack seem to think that hate speech isn't really something they've thought about preventing on the site. Good fucking grief. What is wrong with tech entrepreneurs?!) Despite not hitting 12 miles on Saturday, this past week was my highest mileage ever for a week: over 34 total. I feel pretty good, and I think I'm ready for another 13.1 mile push.

Bay Area residents don't have to file taxes til this fall apparently, but I filed taxes nonetheless. One bonus of collapsing into a shell of depressing and despair last year was that I earned no money so the whole self-employment thing was much much easier to handle. Yay?

And on a quick food note — apologies this is a rushed entry this morning. I'm trying to finish up a bunch of drafts for a writing project that, fingers crossed, will actually result in some income again: we ate at Señor Sisig yesterday evening after we got home. It's a Mexican Phillipino fusion burrito joint, best known for its food trucks perhaps but with a new brick-and-mortar place around the corner from us. I drank the most delicious ube horchata and ate a terrific tosilog burrito. And damn, I know folks like to mock him, but once again Guy Fieri's dining recommendations prove to be spot on. Just don't ever ever ever eat at one of his own restaurants. Trust me. (Or, since I can't seem to find a link to the essay I wrote about the "trash can nachos" at his place in Las Vegas, simply trust this classic from Pete Wells.)