The 3 P's: Pizza, Peaches and something else that starts with P

Just came back from a nice little excursion that actually threatened to suck from the beginning. Rachel got a wild hair up her ass to visit the Concord Flea Market out at the drive-in theater. It's as skeevy as it sounds, but I knew it would be. In days of my youth, I could be found trolling the booths looking for knives and swords. It was like a circus, only instead of elephants and jugglers it was implements of violent death. Well, they must have changed the laws or something because now they have precisely DICK in terms of weapons. There was one bigass SCUBA knife but it was a little too plasticky. One guy was selling what looked like two nice buck knives when they were displayed in sheaths, but they were rusty and junky when you pulled them out. For this he wanted to haggle down from $12! What is this world coming to, when decent American like myself can't purchase sales tax-free swordcanes and pistol crossbows from unlicensed and poorly-groomed dealers.

Back behind the wheel and firmly in control of our destinies for the next few hours, I guided the Saturn towards Berkeley, or as I like to call it, the Place Where God Would Sit Down And Have A Sandwich. I'd been lobbying hard the last few days to try a new pizzeria called Gioia which every local food critic has been drooling over like it was a soft young boy at a NAMBLA meeting. I bought a slice of pepperoni for me and olive for her out of the sidewalk window. By Neptune's trident, this stuff is good! Thin, crispy but not cruncy, complex cheese (not rubbery cheapo mozzarelle), tasty sauce, and good grease. I folded that sucker, gobbled it down and chased it with an organic strawberry lemonade.

Rachel wanted to check out the nursery so I walked over to Monterey Market. Lo and behold, Frog Hollow peaches! The only fruit that should be allowed to carry the name "peach"! I just ate one now and it was so damn good I had to write about it. If a Frog Hollow peach could bake a Gioia pizza I would marry it, make sweet tender love to it and have little peach babies.

You all need to start paying me for this site so I can move to Berkeley. I promise if you move me to Berkeley I'll never do the Lord of the Underpants again, and you'll never have to look at this picture.