Fried fish sandwiches by Lake Tahoe's shore

[Last night, I read Aaron's tax day musings, and after wiping the drool off my chin and wondering why I'll never be able to write as well, I went to bed. I dreamt I was chatting with an elderly lady who sold fried fish sandwiches on the shore at Lake Tahoe. She had a local paper open to an article about how the communities around the California side of the lake were getting together a petition to secede from the three counties that have jurisdiction over the area and form a county of their own. (Look at a California map sometime; I've often wondered why the mostly unincorporated Tahoe region is run from afar by county governments in Nevada City, Auburn, and Placerville. Gold Rush-era remnant, no doubt.) She said that a local government would just interfere with her individual rights, and she was just as happy to have those troublemaking politicians as far from her as possible. We got into an intense argument about communitarianism, libertarianism, and all the good stuff Aaron wrote about. My family was seated at a picnic table nearby, acting throughout as a sort of Greek (geek?) chorus.]

[Yes, I dream about imaginary lines on maps. It was a lovely day by the lake, though, and those fish sandwiches looked very tasty.]

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[Later: Living near Polk Gulch has its perks: while I was genuinely surprised by The Crying Game way back when, I got 13 out of 16 right on the Female/Shemale quiz. Not bad. (Via Jonno, that indubitable hemale.)]