My legs feel much better thank you very fuckin much! While still burnt, I can walk with relative ease... So yeah, never again need that be mentioned. Besides (as a relative preview...) it is safe to say that Vegas, on Sunday/Monday/Tuesday... was frickin awesome to Mark and I, and I just can't complain on this thing right now while exalting in my burst of good fortune. Ah.... sweet lovely Lady Luck, welcome to our table.
Okay.... back to Day 4.
Hee hee.
Day 4... okay.
I wake up feeling able to move freely, which is a good thing since I need to check out of my hotel today and move on to staying with some of the friendliest people I have met in a long time. But on to that later.
Check out is relatively simple (god forbid I ever utter the words "check out is sooooo hard" because that will be the day that I have obviously become retarded) and I toss my shit into the car, which leaves me with a good few hours before I am expected to move out of my glory-hole of a parking spot. So, with an inward sigh, I decide to brave the Santa Monica Pier one last time (for now.... because I fucking love L.A.). I walk out there, snap some pictures, and walk down to the Muscle Cafe, a little bar/restaurant near Muscle Beach. This little place, which doesn't look that impressive, still has a nice little atmosphere.... so I order a beer and some chips'n'salsa, plus a few fish tacos.
Interesting side note, no matter how hard I try, I can't think the words "fish tacos" without giggling a little bit.
So yeah.... good cold beer. Nice. Then comes the chips'n'salsa, and jesus h. christ on roller skates, these are the most amazing chips'n'salsa I have ever had in my entire life. Ever. No comparison. I practically live on chips'n'salsa up here in NYC. I have actually made the drive out to Staten Island and paid an 8 dollar toll just to get the type of salsa I love so much. When home in Virginia Beach, I will often buy upwards of 6 jars of the stuff just to stockpile back here... but then again, I have been known to put salsa on eggrolls, so no wonder I always need some on hand. Honestly, I will know I have found my soulmate when I hear the words "Smother my body in salsa." I'll propose on the spot. After the salsa-frottage.
Point being.... the salsa is homemade at this place, which isn't too special, but when you combine it with handmade thick and hot chips.... I honestly nearly began to cry. This may also be because, aside from Hank on Day 1, the amount of human-to-human contact I have had has been pretty minimal for the last 4 days. Communing with chips is not too different from peacocks... right? RIGHT?
They're amazing, to say the least. Then, as I eat, once again, two guys come up to my table and ask if they can have a seat. This place is pretty small, filled up, and I have 2 seats available, so its a pretty reasonable request... and as I have been talking to my food for the last few minutes, I long for the human interaction. I am also hoping they don't hear me making "yummy noises" while I eat, which I have a tendency to do when really enjoying my food. Its kinda embarrassing sometimes when I am eating and growling happily in the back of my throat, only to be looked at quizzically and asked "good?" I appreciate food damnit. Its a wonder I am not 300 pounds.
These dudes sit down... both of them obviously muscle-beachers. One, who we shall call Jeff (because I forget his name, but he could be a Jeff) is probably in his mid-40's, and probably spends upwards of 6 days at the beach a week playing volleyball and hanging with "his hombres". I like him immediately. The other, whose name I do remember but am probably gonna spell wrong, is called Kree. He is probably in his late-20s, and is a native east-coaster.... which leads to conversation about east-coast beaches and is also immediately likeable. So by the time my fish tacos (heh heh) arrive, the three of us are talking like old friends. They tell me all about L.A. and their views on the entertainment culture... "As a guy, if you just hang out by yourself at some of the clubs and bars, you're gold. Just go alone and you can get in anywhere if you play it cool. That's how you meet people in this business."
Well, I got the alone thing down pat.
Then they tell me I haven't lived till I've walked Venice Beach... so after they invite me to a barbeque (which was damn nice of them) I head out that direction. And yeah... its pretty fuckin funny.
Everywhere you look there is some damn strange person eating fire, doing flips off trashcans, making sculptures out of pennies, or even disco dancing with a moving sound system. That was probably my favorite. I walk along the boardwalk for a long time, then turn around and walk the beach back, where I get a chance to catch up with my dad on the phone who gives me a lot of advice.... but unfortunately I am walking too close to the ocean and spend half the conversation saying "what? I'm sorry. Can you repeat that?" It is entirely possible that years later I will get struck with some horrible disease and my dad will say "weren't you listening when I was talking to you that day you were in LA? I was telling you salsa causes leprosy." He talks a lot and sometimes I space out... something I definitely inherited from him.
So yeah, Venice is awesome, and my god are there some beautiful women in California. Jeff and Kree tried to warn me, but I thought surely they can't be that beautiful... but no, I was wrong. You can't look around any corner in L.A. without seeing someone that makes your eyes bug out a bit.
Then again, I nearly got hard staring at the chips earlier, so who knows how useful my opinion is.
Finally, I move on to the social part of this vacation and receive a call from Molly, the younger sister of my dear friend Kate, who is being so kind as to put me up for the night, and then a few night the next week. I met Molly when her sister and I were dating as freshmen in college... and have seen her only once or twice since then. So for her to put me up is a very kind gesture. She and Joe (her boyfriend), let me know that I'll be crashing at his place... and then give me directions to a pool party in the valley.
I've spent all day at the beach and there is a pool party to go to now.... do you understand how fucking sweet this is? My inner-pisces is swimming in boundless pools of joy.
This drive, like all drives in LA, sucks ass.
Perhaps I should rant for a second. For the last few years I have heard New Yorkers tear this city to pieces, only to find upon arriving here that almost everything I have heard is kinda crap. Though there are some shallow people, most of the people I have met have been so friendly and outgoing that I have openly commented that LA folk are just as friendly as southerners. As a southern guy, this is a tough comment to make.... it comes with a lot of weight. I hear about the smog, which exists sure, but doesn't really hinder much. The weather is flawless, even when drizzly you want to leave the windows down. Plus, wherever you look, you see palm trees and flowers growing all over. Even the crappy areas have palm trees.
But... and this is the big but... driving in this city is a pain in the ass. The traffic is everywhere, at almost all times... every time you need to go anywhere you have to traverse a minimum (I swear to god... its the cosmic price of living here) of three major highways, all of which have strange numbers like 134, and 2, and 405. So a series of directions to get to the... I dunno... movie theatre, will sound like this.
"Okay.... take a left at Franklin. Then right on Vermont. Then go up a bit and take a right on Los Feliz. Then hit the 101 N, take that briefly, its a quick merge to the 110 N, then head to the 134 E. That'll turn into the 210, which you can then take to the 10E. Or if you want, you can take the 405 to the 5 to the 10. Or you can just keep crying while you try to remember these directions."
"... take a left at what?"
And of course, on all those roads, the traffic is backed up harder than a constipated camel.
So I get to the pool party, bring in the beer, and meet a ton of new people. All of whom treat me like they've known me for a while. Its awesome. We all drink beer, swim in the pool, eat hotdogs and chips (lots of chips... ), and proceed to watch the Mavs play, which is exciting for all of them because most of them are from Texas. I just enjoy watching the tall white german guy kick everyones ass.
On the drive back to Joe's place we stop for gas, and get more chips. Chips chips chips. Then we arrive and head out into the backyard.
The enormous 4-tiered back yard that has a firepit, a hammock, a deck, a hottub, a big old patio table with chairs and a huge umbrella, a flowered trellis, and the best view of downtown LA that I have yet seen. The house is big enough for three guys to live comfortably... with a gigantic blood hound named Humphries. And they pay less in rent than we do in our little apartment in Sunset Park (aka, bumfuck), Brooklyn. I want to cry, and perhaps I would have, had it not been for Humphries, who I believe I heard is well over 100 pounds, and just around 2 years old.
If you think about this for a second, you'll realize that this means there is a wrecking ball of a dog that thinks its still a puppy. I have never been nearly knocked on my ass so many times in my life... and over the days that I stay here, often when feeling a bit too contemplative while standing outside, Humphries will run right into me, slobber on me, and then convince me to chase him around the backyard. This game never gets old, even when he is just running from the same place in the place yard to the same other place in the backyard.... with no variation. Its hysterical.
In the process of this night, Molly, Joe, Rusty (Joe's roommate) and I talk well into the night... and drink well into it as well. Molly and Rusty crash first, which leaves Joe and I talking tv and movies. In the course of this conversation I learn that he is a Buffy fan, which earns the highest of respect in my world, and he leaves to grab a movie to show me that he thinks I will appreciate.
Enter... Dawson's Creek.
This is a testament to how drunk everyone was that when Dawson's Creek Season 1 comes out, no eyes bat. And yes, I see my first episode ever of "the Creek." Poor Joey.... little did she know that just being spurned by Dawson was the least of her worries. Later on she'd have to marry a bouncy gay midget scientologist. All things considered, that still might be better than Dawson.... he's kinda a little bitch.
Here's the catch.... and maybe it was the alcohol talking.... but I kinda enjoyed it. For the first time ever, I didn't hate Katie Holmes. And I had no idea the chick from Brokeback Mountain was on this! Not sure if I'll ever see any more of it.... but now I feel like I have some inside knowledge of this old show. Now, if only some day someone will show me an episode of Saved By The Bell, I'll be ready for pop-culture Trivial Pursuit.
And I fall asleep on the futon... happy to have finally found social interaction, with a wonderful group of people who were happy to tell me everything about Los Angeles. And music. And beer. And Dawson's Creek. Fuckin A right.
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