Waiting for Beer-Thirty:

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“They’re cold chillin’ like a pack of villains.” The announcer screamed, I giggled at the idiocy of the statement; People jumped from the sky with trails of smoke.

Ed and I had headed down to San Diego to see the Red Bull Air Races and found ourselves pressed against a steel railing amongst a group of photographers with lenses far more phallic than my own. We listened to the national anthem and watched planes fly around in circles (30feet off the water, weaving in and out of cones at 230mph) for a while, shooting some pictures and finally making our way through the mobs to find some $6 beers.

After a few hours of high speed “World Championship” air racing we wandered into downtown for an Irish pub for happy hour food and Guinness.

I don’t know what we were hoping for, but realizing that we could see the races from the whole bay, we felt kinda screwed that we paid $25 to get into the audience area with 20,000 other people to be crushed in the throngs of humanity.

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