Went out to Los Angeles, California on Thursday.
The sun was out. Friday it was really hot, maybe 95 degrees, if not a hundred at one point. We were right in the heart of LA- just a bunch of buildings, some interesting and some not. There were a lot of good-looking girls and they put us up in the majestic Biltmore Hotel, a classy joint steeped in glitzy history. It was old school. Really it seemed a little too high class for us- just a bunch of ramblers dodging the bright lights to do the little things. A little after midnight on Thursday, captain called and was talking about brooms. If you held a gun to my head I still couldn’t give specific details.
Things took a turn though; the whole trip flipped. Not in a funny way, a street way, or a gymnastically awesome kind of way. No sir. My stomach flipped. After that, things just got a bit shitty.
The airports brought me home. The planes were simple planes but I kind of dug the functionality of Airtran. I did. They might get my business from now on. I refuse to use the internet while on a plane, though. I don’t care if they make it so you can even use cellphones while flying. My phone stays off. The number one best thing about flying for me is that you have to shut off your phone. God help us if you don’t! That could be the ending message of Lost!
All it is really is a matter of being left alone, being totally by your self. If you’re traveling solo (which I usually do,) there is a certain feeling of isolation to it. It’s just you, dude. There is literally no one else you know around you at all. It’s all strangers from strange lands. All of these good people have a story and a reason why they are where they are. It’s something, dude. It’s substantial. In these turbulent times, flying isn’t a luxury. Most of the time it’s a necessity. It’s happening because it has to, not because it needs to. We’re all on missions. We’re all looking to get somewhere. Looking up at the air vents and over to check out the scenery, because in this light, that mountain range looks downright poetic.
LAX was beautiful and Asian and interesting.
Atlanta was confined and American and interesting.
Philadelphia was ah yes…refreshing and my Kenyan cab driver, after laughing at the potholes, kept wondering- what is the OTHER?
The dark walk through Cambridge St brought on the strongest feeling of God Damn this feels good in a couple days- probably the first since sometime Friday. Maybe I’m just an East Coast dude, I thought. I felt better walking along Cambridge St at quarter to one in the morning than I did on the Venice boardwalk in the middle of the afternoon.
That place though was a freak show. There was botox on the beach, along with medicinal marijuana evaluations- right next to the beehive that will tattoo Marilyn Monroe and Kobe Bryant on your forearm in less than an hour. Because it was Roshashanah, the one Jewish establishment on the boardwalk had a fist-looking security guard sitting out front, in a red folding chair. It’s one of the high holidays, Molly explained, and as a result, there is a shit load of money going into that building. So the security, especially at a place located at such a seedy and downright sketchy locale as the Boardwalk was definitely needed. And that dude better look tough.
My apartment better look like home, and thankfully- it did.
While I would request a do-over if possible, I will also just say, okay- that just happened. That was a thing- a thing that was rare & unique and you know tomorrow is Friday and when the evening comes- we’re just going to pretend that the whole thing was just a dream, another work trip in the books.
And on a side note, the new Pearl Jam album is amazing driving music!
Boo yah! Goodnight, summer! Thanks for coming out.