We went out to the pool today; roommate and his girlfriend wanted to hang out for a bit. We took some pinot noir for her and I; roommate took a Guinness. The hot tub wasn't heated, so we spent most of the time swimming in the main pool. She wore a two piece bathing suit. I'm accustomed to the women I’m closest to wearing one piece suits. Spuds even wore a t-shirt over her one piece. It takes some confidence to show off one’s belly. I wore some faded denim shorts and took my shirt off. Our compatriot left his grey wife beater on over long cargo shorts. I’m not sure what he’s afraid of; we don’t judge each other here; well at least we won’t admit to it. It made me miss naked hot tub time in Santa Cruz in 1995. Godzilla bootlegs on the big screen drinking champagne with strawberries, laying back in the hot tub with 5 friends talking about everyone's body art. After we'd tired of the pool, we sat near the edge and read. I had Love in the Time of Cholera; she had One Hundred Years of Solitude. Almost a bus stop moment; two people realize that they're reading (college level) books by the same author. Ian was reading something like looked like those awful teenage (and arm chair soldier) spy novels. On closer inspection it was something by Philip K. Dick, so it was okay. Just poor cover design. I've never read by the pool before. I so rarely even consider going outside unless it's to go someplace else. I can't even remember the last time I went swimming. I think it was when 3 friends came to visit from Santa Cruz in 2002 or thereabouts. After we came inside, I really wanted to hear Perfect Day by Lou Reed but I couldn't find the CD; I settled on the Pixies. It rounds things off nicely. I think it might be time for some Italian splatter horror soon.