Sunday, September 2, 2018


West Coast beard

Of all the alleged disparities between the two seashores—East Coast stout, West Coast stout—East Coast political outrage, West Coast political outrage—East Coast romantic suspense, West Coast romantic suspense—East Coast brooding, West Coast brooding—East Coast potato dish, West Coast potato dish—and so forth, I am here to report that my beard, modest as it may be, appears to be growing according to universal patterns of bearded development. This is noteworthy, since I have grown a beard, modest as it may be, both on the East Coast, where I formerly resided, and on the West Coast, where I currently reside.

The corner turret

If you care to know, I am situated most often at longitude 40 degrees, 52 minutes, 14 seconds North, latitude 124 degrees, 5 minutes, 11 seconds West, in the corner turret. Currently, me and my beard are looking out the corner turret at 88 degrees East toward the Arcata Community Forest. Currently, me and my beard are drinking a West Coast stout, Deschutes Obsidian Stout, oh yes, we heartily recommend this fine brew, do me and my beard. Afterwards, technically, we are both “beered” as the kids say. East Coast puns, West Coast puns: they’re all pretty dreadful in the end. But the forest is not dreadful. The forest is tall, quiet, cathedral, sage, vigilant.

East Coast beard

I am assimilating among the peoples of the West Coast, which is all to say that I am engaging in comparisons (as you can tell). If you live on the East Coast, then we must traverse great distances in order to keep company, but we shall, traverse great distances and keep company, you and I. If you reside on the West Coast, then the distances to traverse aren’t so great, and let us traverse them, you and I, for my abode might house you if you might need housing, and my abode might feed you, if you need nourishment, and my abode might uncork the wonders of song and drink, if you need merriment, and you do. The door is always open, friend.

This Posts Is Part of New Home California Day. Also See:


mark wallace said...

Stout in the turret. Not a terrible way to go down.

mark wallace said...

Stout in the turret. Not a terrible way to go down.


I'm halfway up the hill. Lo, if the wave cometh, I might even have half a chance to make it all the way up the hill. Otherwise, yes, I shall face the floodwaters with a stout in hand. In the turret.


T. A. Zook said...



Roight. BA