This evening is the end of my nine day sabbatical, and I look back on it with fondness, like the end of a movie where the person flashes back to all the good times in their life in a soft focus. I did nothing, and it was everything I thought it could be.

Tomorrow I’ll return to work and wade through the emails, voice mails, sticky notes, white board scribblings, and other communicative relics folks felt so inclined to leave for me in my absence. I’ll do my best to make sense of what happened while I was gone, piecing fragments of communiques together in a near-arbitrary order (since chronological doesn’t ever quite do it), and people will ask why I’m not done with whatever it was I was working on, what my status is.

Sigh.

I will also face the choice of allowing myself to be distracted by the innumerable requests for a recount of my adventures in San Andreas or blocking my cubicle door, at which point I will only get half as many requests, these from the people who think the “I’m Busy” indicators outside my cube really don’t apply to them (and those people would be incorrect). I will attempt to point them to my web site, where there is bound to be more richness and detail about my travels than I am able to impart in the abbreviated time allotted, but they will all always rather hear it directly from me, since I obviously will have copious amounts of time to spare on such things my first couple of days back.

In the end, my vacation was good, and I am glad I took it. However, when I return to work, bright and early tomorrow morning, I will probably close my eyes, shake my head, and wonder if it was really worth it, to take a small amount of relaxation time in the midst of one of my neverending projects, just so I can be that much further behind.

That said, I suppose it can be argued that if one is constantly sprinting, when “crunch time” really comes and additional speed is required, there will be no energy left to go that extra mile.

I think the answer is that maybe, just maybe, life itself needs to slow down - just a little - so it isn’t always required that one sprints; perhaps slow and steady really does win the race. Sadly, the business world - the high-tech business world - rests for no one, and doesn’t really afford its minions the rest, either. One must take one one can get, and enjoy it while it lasts, since the world waits for no one.

Onward, ever forward, I go.

My last day in San Andreas was probably my most eventful. I won’t bore you with too much detail, but I did some cross-country racing; lost my girlfriend, Catalina, to a mute dude headed to Liberty City; destroyed a huge crop of weed and, once the cops came, a police helicopter; drove around San Fierro (one of the major cities in San Andreas); framed the San Fierro DA for drug possession (won’t be seeing any more of him, will we?); and took a few photos of some very suspect individuals in an attempt to figure out who my lame ex-friends, Ryder and Big Smoke, are working with.

It may not sound like a lot, but it was. Much of this activity took me all across the countryside, particularly in the Badlands, in the southwest quadrant of San Andreas, and that’s some real rural stuff.

I did take the time to participate in a defensive driving school, where they taught me useful skills like how to do cookies, control a car after running over a police spike strip, and execute a PIT maneuver. All things I’ll definitely use back home.

I also took the time to drive some very popular women around town. They’d get calls from people named “John” (there are a lot of people named John in San Andreas!), and I’d drive them all over to meet these Johns. Then they’d finish talking (or whatever) with these gentlemen and I’d go pick them up and take them to see another friend. Each time I’d pick them up, they’d give me quite a large sum of money. Not too shabby for a glorified taxi driver, right?

San Andreas has taught me all sorts of useful skills during my stay. I’ve learned new vocabulary, driving skills, shooting skills, and even some new ways to positively influence the ladies, if you know what I mean. I’ve also decided that I’m definitely in the wrong line of work back home because there is so much more money to be easily made doing other, possibly less legal, things. I’ve probably made half a million dollars over the course of my stay. Tax free, no less.

In all seriousness, though, my stay in San Andreas was great fun. I’ve only seen about 2/3 of the place, so I’ll definitely be coming back for more, just not during such an extended stay like this one.

One thing to note - I never saw any kids while walking/biking/driving the streets of San Andreas, and I think that’s because kids aren’t (and shouldn’t be) allowed to visit. It’s a lot more harsh than I remember my visit to Vice City being, and Vice City wasn’t a child’s destination, either. So, mommas, don’t let your babies grow up to be gangsters. Or something like that.

In summary: Great place to visit (I’ll be coming back! Soon!), but, as usual, wouldn’t want to live there.

I got tired of my gang fighting within the ranks, and apparently other Grove Street members did, too, because they set up a meeting for us to reunite. Of course, the cops showed up in force, with helicopters, the SWAT team, motorcycles… you name it, it was there. Lucky for me, I had my trusty AK-47 with me.

My pal, Sweet, was trapped inside the hotel where the meeting was being held, so it was up to me to go in and save him. I’m amazed that I’m always strapped to the gills with guns and this guy never has any. Maybe I’ll loan him one of mine sometime.

Anyway, I single-handedly battled our way out of the hotel onto the roof where a helicopter full of sharpshooters was waiting. All of them shot at Sweet (probably because he was unarmed) so while he drew fire it was my job to take the helicopter out. After that, we climbed off the roof and, after a pretty hairy car chase, escaped the cops.

Something I noticed in my travels in San Andreas is that the food here has restorative, healing powers. I can get shot several times, head into the local pizza joint, eat a couple of pizzas, and I’m good as new. What’s better, I can buy a drink in a vending machine and get the same result. I’ll have to remember to ask them what they’re putting in it because I think that’d be a hit back home.

I got a call from a friend of mine, Cesar, who wanted to take me to see something but wouldn’t tell me what it was. When we got there, I couldn’t believe my eyes: my friends, Big Smoke and Ryder, were not only working with the corrupt police officer, Tenpenny, but they had the green car that my mom was gunned down by! I still have a tough time believing they’d turn on me like this, but I can’t say I didn’t suspect them all along.

Of course, because they were working with the cops, that meant the meeting some other friends of mine went to was an ambush because Big Smoke sold them out. (If you feel like this is happening a little fast for you, don’t worry - you’d be amazed how fast things happen in San Andreas.)

I went to rescue my friends, who all had guns but couldn’t seem to hit any of their attackers, and the cops showed up. Of course, it was Officer Tenpenny (who sounds a lot like Samuel L. Jackson, might I add), who knocked me out, put a bag over my head, and drove me out to the country.

Turns out he threw all of my surviving friends into jail, but somehow he saw something special in me and decided to let me go if I’d do a favor for him. There was a guy holed up in a safe house on a mountain and I had to go kill him and take a photo of the body. All in a day’s work, right?

I hopped on a bike, headed up the mountain, flushed the guy out, and chased him down. I ended up running his car off the mountain road and - because Officer Tenpenny took all of my guns - punched the guy to death. Then I snapped a photo, dropped off the camera, and that was that.

A few things occurred to me at this point:

First, it’s amazing how many people seem to leave their keys in their cars with the doors unlocked. With a one-man crime spree like me on the loose, you’d think they’d at least lock their doors. As it stands, I can hop into any parked car out there and it starts right up - I don’t even have to close my door. Some folks never learn.

Second, I’m going to have to contact the highway safety office and have them investigate some of the roads around here. There are some seriously precarious mountain roads up there that don’t have guard rails around them. Let me tell you, it’s easier than you think to drive right off the mountain. You’ll probably survive, but it does some good damage to your car. I may have a class action lawsuit brewing here.

Third, looking at my map I don’t see the different gang turf anymore, so I’m thinking that, even though the meeting got ambushed by police, the gangs must have reunited. That’s sort of unfortunate, because there was a lot of money to be made when the war was on. Kinda like real life, huh, Mr. Bush?

Back to my day: I dropped off the camera, then went to visit Officer Tenpenny at this local yokel’s hotel room. The guy was some sort of drugged-out flower child who called himself “The Truth.” Anyway, he wanted me to go steal a combine harvester from a group of survivalists on a farm out in the country. Whatever, man.

Shot down a bunch of the survivalists on the way to the combine, then once I was in the combine, I could run them down. Of course, they’d shoot out the back of the combine in chopped up pieces when I did, which I figured was a warning to those standing in my way of what would happen to them… but no one heeded that warning and just stood in the way. I took the combine back to The Truth’s farm, the combine possessed, like something from a Stephen King film.

Oh! I also met a new girlfriend, Catalina. She’s into the sado-masochistic thing, and on our first date she brought out a real live rack to put me on. I begged for mercy and she relented, but I admit I was a little freaked out.

Catalina is also into robberies, so we robbed a bank and an off-track horse race betting place. Reasonably uneventful, beyond the usual police chases and such.

Catalina’s a fiery woman. No sooner do I drop her off at her house but she calls me and tells me she’s going to “cut my balls off and make me eat them” or something like that. I’m not sure why I always fall in with this hostile crowd, but I guess I’ll take what I can get.

Today was a big day. Not only did I burn down a rival gang’s house, I picked up a girlfriend in the process. She seems to like being taken out to cheap bars or fast food, and if I don’t see her every couple of days, she calls me and tells me not to treat her like a ho or she’ll put a cap in my ass. Who wouldn’t want a girl like that?

I was also entrusted by my gang to start taking over rival gang territory, so I spent quite a bit of time doing that. Every once in a while, a gang would try to take some territory back, but I’d show up with my AK-47 and put them back in their place.

OG Loc violated parole and he’s headed back to prison, so we gave him a final sendoff party he’ll never forget. Of course, a rival gang crashed it so we had to kill them all before the party could really get going. A few car explosions and dead bodies later, and I was dancing the night away.

I’m starting to notice the gang members getting smarter, using flanking tactics and such when they attack. That could prove to be interesting, though I’ve been able to use their own intelligence against them - if I back myself down a long alleyway, they all funnel in and get gunned down single-file. A couple might hold back, but after the majority of the gang’s out of the way, one or two stragglers isn’t a problem, particularly when wearing body armor.

Day 2 in San Andreas was reasonably eventful.

I started out the day realizing I was low on funds and would have to make a quick buck if I was going to save myself from having to drive back and forth across Los Santos. I decided to impersonate a taxi driver for a while, which netted me some decent dough, and after 50 fares, I was informed that all cabs have nitrous on them. Very cool if you need a fast car.

I took my money and bought a small shack in the northeast portion of Los Santos. $10,000 - what a steal! Not much to look at, but somewhere you can call home.

My pal Big Smoke let me know that a friend of mine, Jeffrey, was coming out of jail, so we went to meet him. He’s trying to start a rap career (but he sucks) and figured going to jail would somehow give him street credibility. Whatever.

Jeffrey met us outside the jail and informed us to now call him “OG Loc,” which is the stupidest rapper name ever, but it fits with his rap, which also sucks. We dropped OG Loc off at his new job as a “hygiene technician” at the Burger Shot.

I took the downtime to run over to the tattoo parlor and get one of everything. I’m covered in tattoos now, and the rest of the gang respects that. I also visited the gym, since I hadn’t been in a while, and built up my muscle and stamina.

Big Smoke took me to pick up his cousin Mary, who just came in from Mexico, but - would you believe it? - he was talking about marijuana. Just say no, Big Smoke! But I guess that’s probably why they call him “Big Smoke,” and there wasn’t much I could do, so I let him do his thing. Of course, the deal went south, so I had to chase one of the dealers down and kill him. I tried to reason with him, but no, he wanted to run. Hey, man - you make your bed, you sleep in it.

Big Smoke seemed troubled over the whole drug deal gone bad, so I went over to his house to console him and he decided to take some revenge. I, of course, attempted once again to talk some sense into him, but he’d have none of it.

I’m beginning to think Big Smoke is working with some corrupt cops in town. They always seem to be at his house when I come over. Weird.

Anyway, we went to the train station and the drug dealers hopped on a train and tried to escape. I chased the train down on a conveniently located motorcycle and Big Smoke, riding on back, gunned them down from the bike.

Then I found out there was something going on between Big Smoke and some Russians, so we went downtown to talk to them, but they ended up chasing us through town and down a flood control trench. This time I rode on the back of the bike and Big Smoke drove, so it was up to me to shoot down any pursuing vehicles. It was rough going there for a while, but we made it. (To be honest, I’m not sure what Big Smoke got out of that one, but I have to trust he knows what he’s doing.)

I went back downtown to visit OG Loc at his job, and he was having a difficult time writing lyrics and breaking into the rap business, so I offered to help him out by stealing the lyrics from a well-known rap artist and then killing the rap artist’s manager. What are friends for? Both of those came off without a hitch, and I think OG Loc is going to be getting a career soon. We’ll see.

Lastly, I decided I needed some more money, so I picked up a job as a courier at the local market dropping off packages of what resembled talcum powder. Why people need talcum powder dropped off all over town is beyond me, but it pays well, so I did it. After doing four sets of deliveries, the store told me they were very thankful for my work and now they pay me $2000 a week - free! Very kind of them, and helpful in my money making efforts.

I capped off the evening by buying a new place on the west side of Los Santos so now I have a place to stay wherever I’m at. Gotta love it.

Heard from home that Bush got elected for a second term and Oregon Measure 36

• a measure amending the state constitution to ban gay marriage - passed. I’m thinking about staying in San Andreas and never coming home because it’s going to hell in a handbasket out there. I can’t say it any better than Dan Gillmor, so read his statement and I say “ditto.”