Day 1 - "The Vacation I Was Advised Not To Take"

So begins my first turn at blogging... something I have universally been annoyed by since the first time I heard the term and thought it sounded like something you would do at the end of a porn scene. Thanks to Mark for coining the phrase "I blogged on your mom last night"... we love him for such sentiments.

I shouldn't pretend that this is something I am doing as a random, spur-of-the-moment kinda thing... no no no, this has specific purpose. You see, for the first time in my life, I have packed up a suitcase and traveled all the way across the country without an understanding of why I am doing so in the first place. I have vacationed before, but always under the knowledge that I was going to see someone, or going with someone to see something. Not so this time. I am on vacation alone, and as the lovely lady in the MGM Casino said as I bought sunscreen (which didn't work for shit... look for Day 2's post), a pack of raw almonds (which I am consuming now... see Day 3), and a Diet Berries and Cream Dr. Pepper (which was kinda like drinking 3 day old hot syrup) "Is there a story behind that?"

Oh yeah, there is.... but not one that I will relate online. I prefer to keep such things off my myspace page, so as to not draw unnecessary embarrassment to anyone involved. So let us jump ahead.

My ticket is meant to depart at 8 am'ish Wed. morning, and as of Tuesday night at 11pm, I am unsure of the majority of the specifics for my trip. I know I have a place to crash half the time (which is gonna be interesting, I've no doubt), but no transportation and nothing figured for the rest of the time I am there. All I know is that I'll be arriving in Vegas Wed. afternoon, and have no concrete plans beyond that until Sat.

Cue up Cheaptickets.com and a new credit card and suddenly I am booked in a Santa Monica beachfront hotel (which isn't as nice as a previous place visited, but is still pretty darn nice) with a rental car, and plans to spend 2 nights in Vegas with my best friend, who will be there on business. My hand hovers over the confirm button for about 5 minutes as i contemplate whether or not this is something I really want to do (and for those who are in on the history, you can probably guess why this was not an easy decision) and then I audibly say "fuck it" and hit send. BAM! I have a trip planned.... bring on the financial instability! I'm in it for the haul now... and to those of you who warned me against this, I now say "thpt!!!" Dramatic gesture or not, I am gonna be on the beach the next night, and my stomach is swirling around in a pleasant little nausea.

Great... past midnight now.... no bags packed, no loose ends tied up, no proof that I am not losing my mind.... and no, I hadn't been drinking. What the fuck did I just do? Besides put myself in debt? What am I gonna do there? Do I even have enough clean underwear for the trip?

Fuck it, I don't have time to be logical about such minor questions.... I have to pack. Pack for a trip I haven't even planned out beyond a "get there and see what happens" mentality... Have you ever tried to pack for an adventure that has no clear focus or plan? Think about days when you are headed to school, then maybe the gym, then work, then out with friends... and who knows if you might end up going home with some weird russian girl at the end of the night who eats all the lunchmeat in the fridge and then tells you about her drug habit. You pack a bunch of shit.... and still aren't sure if you've got it all covered. So I start trying to plan.... bathing suit (check), mishmash of clothing (yep), computer for random blogging (why the fuck not), toiletries (starting to get tired...), sunglasses (packe.... fuck, I am asleep).

Alarm! Up, out the door, and if I forgot anything, I'll just buy it in L.A.
In the cab... "damnit, forgot to bring deodorant... and sunscreen."

Whatever, buy em later.

And finally I am at La Guardia, checked in, holding my frazzled and confused suitcase... which is when the breakdown finally occurs. I've been avoiding this for days.... and now, here it is. At 7 something am, by the damn Frontier ticket counter. This is where Hollywood goes wrong... watch every damn movie where someone has a huge falling-to-pieces, and they are always alone, listening to sappy music, and in the rain. If its a woman, they have chocolate nearby, or ice cream... if its a man, its a beer. This is how it should be. This is not how it is.

What really happens is that your background music is a chubby middle-aged woman announcing "Flight 505 to Denver will begin boarding shortly," your mood-expanding food/drink is actually a handful of dry cereal tossed haphazardly into a baggie, and instead of being alone, you are surrounded by a whole room full of very tired and grumpy new yorkers who are looking at you with a nervous "please don't be schizophrenic and sitting next to me" look. Fortunately, this strange triad of factors eventually amuses you enough to pull it together and get onto the plane... where you immediately fall asleep and wake up in Denver.

This should make me happy... I just slept through a 4 and a half hour flight.... and at first I am thrilled.... then, suddenly, the old couple next to me begins to speak.

That was pretty good for airplane food. It sure was. We'll have to fly with them again. Word up Grandpa.

I am paraphrasing. But that was the essence of their conversation. I groggily look over to see that they have a snack basket in their laps filled with fun little treats, and some pimply-faced kid across the aisle is eating donuts. Suddenly my dry Grape Nuts from before is looking pretty crappy in comparison (which isn't saying much since eating dry Grape Nuts is like munching on food-flavored gravel)... which must have been apparent on my face because Grandpa Buck actually looks at me and says "we thought about waking you."

Great. Thanks. Dicknose. There should be a rule... no one wakes you for peanuts, pretzels, or those little ginger-cookie things which always crumble to pieces before you can eat them anyway.... but if you are getting snack-baskets and donuts, fuck, poke me - shake me - kick me in the groin. Whatever. I want my snack basket.

I'm past it. I make my transfer, get on my next flight, and vow to stay awake for the food this time. But once again.... I fall asleep and wake up in Vegas, which is okay this time since they didn't give out the baskets on this flight. I asked. Twice.

Now comes the second big hurdle. Can I get my car, get on the road, and be out of the city before reality starts kicking in. I make it as far as the rental car (which is a cute burgundy sporty lookin thing) and suddenly realize that I am having trouble actually leaving my parking spot. Not that the car is a problem, but I am having another mental schism, this time I would like to believe as a result of the hunger that has been running through my brain since Grandpa Buck.

Oh fuck... here we go. Just breathe and think positively. After a much appreciated phone call with my friend Haseena, I am on the road to the MGM Casino to get myself a sandwich from 'Wichcraft (one of the things I promised I would do this time). It was lovely. I pick up my stuff (sunscreen, almonds, and hot syrup) from the gift shop, and I am on the road. W-15 to L.A. here I come.

Something changes during this drive. Its hard to explain, even when talking face to face with someone, but I'll try. Once I hit California (and have received "are you alive" phone calls from my mother and my friend Kate) I start to feel very calm. Not calm, like I've been force-fed Prosac, but just calm. Have you ever ate so much on Thanksgiving that you just have to go sit down in front of the TV and turn your brain off for a bit? You are full, satisfied, and unable to be bothered by anything other than the thought of eating another slice of pumpkin pie that was better the year before but god forbid you say that to your mother or she might cut your ears off when you fall asleep. Yeah, that kinda calm.

I've made this drive across the Mojave before. Twice. And believe me when I say that the difference between this time and the two times prior was completely night and day. Before, I was traveling with someone who was in a huge rush to get there the entire time, so there was no time to look around and just absorb something as incredible as this huge expanse of nothingness. Before, the drive was stressful and frustrating. This time, there was nothing to worry about... and the trip ended up taking almost 7 hours, because I refused to let myself miss anything. Something changed out there... I can't define it... but it was pretty awesome. Maybe a little trite to say that I found illumination alone in the desert, cue bad country-rock music, but perhaps its trite because others have found similar truth. I dunno. Better make a snide comment quick.... ummmm.... just insert your own.

To begin with, I decided to visit a Ghost Town called Calico that was off the interstate. Now, I get the feeling that if you visit this place during the afternoon, then you see a whole different side of it. There were gift shops, snack stands, and little specialty stores (glass blowers, etc.) that obviously were in use, but I arrived after the place closed down.... and as I walked into town there was one man leaving. After I told him I was just there to look around, he told be he was the head cook at the nearby restaurant, and that everything had shut down about 2 hours prior. I asked if I should leave, and he told me not to, but to just walk up the cliff and I was welcome to look around as long as I liked. "Yeah, sometimes people just like to go see it for themselves in the evening when everyone is gone. No one is up there, so you should be fine... just make sure you are careful coming back down the hill." I thanked him, we shook hands, and away he walked. Up the hill I went, the sun still up and hot, but on its way out.
You'd think a ghost town would be eerie and more westernish, but almost immediately there was a flurry of animals everywhere. Among the obvious circling of what I can only assume were vultures, there were some of the prettiest animals I had ever seen, just walking around as if they owned the place, which I guess they kinda did. Desert rabbits, quail, and then... out of nowhere.... peacocks. Peacocks all over the damn place, Fucking Peacocks.... and not the least bit afraid of a human wandering around them. Before I got out of the touristy area, there was one that walked right past me, forcing me to move so that its feathers wouldn't smack me in the face... and I swear to you that I could almost hear it whispering "get the fuck up outta my hood... squawk." Beautiful thing, no regard for me or anything around except itself, and right past me it went. Definitely got a chuckle out of that, on a few levels. And up I walked, to the lookout area. Needless to say, I had a view of the entire desert and this small little deserted town... and just sat down and appreciated it for a few minutes. It was pretty damn incredible. Then I got hot... time to move on and get some dinner.

God this is getting long.... I am mostly writing this for my own benefit, so keep reading if ya want, but if ya stop... then.... I dunno.... up yours. I like this story.

I drive back to the highway and decide to stop in Peggy Sue's 50's Diner... another place I wanted to visit in the past but couldn't because of the rush. In I walk... into a frickin time warp. This place is hysterical.... one of the tackiest places I have ever seen, but so charming. The music is a nonstop series of hits from the 50's, the waitresses were definitely not spring chickens (but still wore old 50's waitress outfits), Elvis and old Hollywood memorabilia were everywhere, and, most importantly, they carried about 15 different types of homemade pie. I was in heaven. Or at least what heaven would have looked like if run by Frenchie from Grease. I ordered a sweet tea (which got me a prompt "this ain't the south sugar") and changed to lemonade (which was hand-squeezed... very good). When the lady (who I shall refer to as Shirley) came to take my order, she sat down right at my table and proceeded to ask me who I was and where I came from.

"Ummm.... Brooklyn.... and Virginia, kinda. But I am traveling from Vegas to L.A."

"Alone?"

"Uh. Yep."

And I shit you not... "There must be some story there, isn't there?" Thus confirming that no one ever travels alone anymore. I say yes, and give her a 10 sec. version. She nods, asks me what I want, and pats me on the back as she walks off. I think we'd be fired off the Cruise Ship if we sat down or touched the passengers, but I tell ya, it made me tip more to have someone be so laid back with me.

That also might be because not 15 minutes before I had been talking to a peacock in the middle of the desert.

As I eat my patty melt I look up and see a sign on the wall that says "Have you ever been happier than you are right now!" It probably should have ended in a question mark, but the point still came across, and I smiled and took another bite. Somewhere in the middle of my cherry pie (best I have ever had) a trucker (who I have named Hank... he looks like a Hank) comes up and sits down right at my table. As I mumble "uh... hello" which sounds more like " uff... hflo" through my cherry pie... Hank begins to speak (which isn't easy for him either, as he has only one tooth in his head)... and this is what he says, almost word for word.

"There's somethin special about this place. You can come here and forget anything that's bothering you... Iraq... anything. I come here to get away from everything and just be happy." He looks at me.

"No, yeah. I can see that. Its like the sign says..." and I gesture awkwardly to the sign on the wall.

"The sign's right. I've been coming here since I was a boy."

"I can understand why. Its a great place."

"It sure is. You make sure they take care of you, buddy." And Hank gets up, shakes my hand, comments that the song playing is from the movie Picnic, and walks out.

I'm not sure what is going on anymore except that Hank has just come over and told me that everything is alright, especially since I am in Peggy Sue's, and I am sure that somewhere Hank has a grandson who recognizes that his grandfather is pretty damn cool... maybe a little off-putting, but all together a pretty interesting guy. I pay my bill, promise the ladies I'll stop in again when I am passing through on Sun. I am pretty sure I hear that Hank is one of their father's as I leave. Of course he is...

On the road again... stop to take a few pics of random things... and roll into Santa Monica around 9 pm. Park the car, and check into my room which has a stove, microwave, and fridge.... so looks like Cup O'Noodles is on the menu this week! Woo hoo! After making myself a drink and taking a shower, I set out on my first mission. I walk the path of the places I was the last time that I was here and take the time to reflect appropriately, then stop in a nearby hotel to ask where the fun places were around here on a Wed. night. The clerk, a pretty gal with braces, smiles at me and draws me a map to some nearby clubs. Off I go... what's a little more traveling after the day I have had?

Getting there takes a really long time.... while Braces may have a charming disposition and friendly manner, a good cartographer she isn't. Ah well, when I finally arrive I realize the clubs aren't exactly looking for a disheveled guy in jeans and a Depeche Mode t-shirt to join their ranks, so I look across the street and see a bar that immediately interests me. Loud and raucous, with tvs blaring a baseball game, and about 20 people standing out front smoking... the beer advertises a wide selection of beer and a "come on in and get drunk and loud" motto. I enter, secure a place at the bar, order a beer, and look around. Almost immediately I am struck by seeing 2 Yankees pendants on the wall, and a Yankees ballcap front and center.

I wave the bartender over. "Hey, who's the Yankees fan?"
"Everyone in here is."
"Really?"
"Yeah, this is pretty much the only Yankee's bar in L.A. There are like three Red Sox bars, but this is the Yankee's bar. Sometimes they line up on the street and yell at us."

I look around and see there are at least 3 other people inside wearing NY hats, and begin to laugh.

"What's so funny?"
"I just managed to wander into the only NY bar in all of L.A. I just left there this morning, and here I am again. Its just ironic."

Like 10000 spoons, when all you need is a knife. God I hate Alanis for that song.

At the end of the night, the entire bar begins to chant the name Charlie, and the bartender turns off the music where he begins to thank everyone in the room for all their help. Apparently, his son had been really sick, and he was able to help raise the money to get him better through the help of a lot of the people in the bar. He began to cry, pulls out about 40 glasses and begins to fill them all with Jagermeister shots for everyone in the bar. On the house. We all toast Charlie, he shakes everyones hand (me included) and says how much he loves everyone (probably not me included) and how the bar had brought them all together. The owner stands up and toasts Charlie again, saying the best thing that had ever happened to that place was the day Charlie had gotten fired from PF Changs and had to come work for them. This moment, like so many more of this day, was tinged with so much emotion and truth that I begin to feel like there realize is a reason that I hit that "confirm" button the night before.

I don't understand many things that have gone on in the last few weeks.... maybe I'm not meant to. But who cares... be it in an airport, a gift shop, a ghost town, a desert diner, or a NY bar in the heart of Santa Monica... there are (as my friend Haseena said) little moments of magic that occur for a reason.

I'll be interested to see how this whole thing plays out.