Californication

The wind buffets my tiny tent, exposed some 6000 feet above the jungle of Los Angeles. I abandon my shelter and climb into my tiny car, rocked to a fitful sleep by the gusts. I feel...alert. Hyper-aware.

Some time later....sunrise, we begin our descent. SoCal rush hour, Monday morning, is not nearly so pronounced an obstacle in the foothills east of town. The traffic report is in an indecipherable code:

Traffic heavy on the 405.

Vehicle stalled on the 10.

Century solid from LAX all the way back to the 1.

En que lingua, que significa, esta?

The jungle awakes. Mid-January, and already in the 70's. Today will be 85.

Traffic is heavier now. I make my way to the observatory in west Hollywood and begin to climb. Asian locals greet me on way up. They do not rush. They are a contrast to the city bustling beneath us.

Later, the city traversed, I am on Venice Beach. Somewhere behind me, in this insanity, is the Abercrombie model we met yesterday. And elsewhere, the Russian/German photographer that found a storefront so fascinating. And her little table that she took everywhere. She's there too, drawn to this jungle. I feel...connected. There is a depth to them that I now feel. We share a story. We share a place. This place.

My toes sink into the sand. A sixth sense, which perhaps only those of Irish descent can appreciate, tells me I am in the process of being sunburnt.

An otter swims near the shore and graces the children with its whiskered smile.

The day begins to wane. I wait. She waits. She sits outside Tom Bradley terminal, eyes intent on every takeoff. She's somewhere else. I want badly to ask her where.

Then 38,000 feet and an hour later, we fly over Vegas. They say things stay in Vegas, that we don't take them with us.

I've lived in Vegas. They lie.

But thank YHWH things don't stay in LA. I take every moment with me. And now I'm home, my strange seaside adventure playing over and over again inside.

This post will likely make no sense to you.

That's okay.

I'm Cheating On My Gym

I'm a cheater. For the past month, I have been seeing another gym.

Now I could pretend it was a sudden, unexpected "thing", that it just kind of happened...but we all know that isn't really how these things play out.

The truth is, I'd been thinking about doing this for a while now. I guess I just didn't think it would happen so quick!

The part I feel the worst about, is that it took almost a month for me to tell my old gym.

It was bound to happen. I mean, I was with Old Gym for over 4 years when I finally made up my mind to explore my options. The magic was gone. The friendly counter people had slowly been replaced by, let's face it, snobby teenagers that would just as soon fold towels than check me in. And speaking of those towels...you really got stingy with them. I mean, seriously...how much do little towels cost these days?

But it wasn't just that...I asked you for new equipment, Old Gym. I knew after a while that I wasn't as important to you as you pretended. Or else you would have bought me that new Bench Press.

And what about your clientele? The average age in FoCo is 30...yours had to be double that. I mean, I *love* your old people, don't get me wrong...it just wasn't what I was looking for? If you really had cared about me, you would have gone out into the streets and pulled in all kinds of fit, young, and friendly girls my age (hey, we agreed...total honesty, yeah?). I waited and waited...but you never came through for me.

So here's how it happened: one day, on my way home from work, I thought about heading to Old Gym. And it felt like torture to me. I knew then, the charade had to end. So instead, I stopped by New Gym, still in my work clothes.

I was unprepared for the sense of freedom as I walked through those doors. Andrea, working the counter, smiled at me even before she knew I wasn't a member yet (and yes, Old Gym...she is fit, young, and friendly, just FYI). She showed me the place, we realized we had the same last name, all kinds of friendliness going around...then she told me the price.

You have to understand, Old Gym, that I was fully prepared to walk if New Gym couldn't match your deal. I was totally ready to give us one more shot if price was out of range. And it totally was...on the low end. New Gym charges me $20 less a month than Old Gym.

And that was that. I'm not saying I'm proud, but then again, I know that I did what needed to be done.

You're still a great gym, Old Gym, and I'm sure you'll find plenty of other runners and weightlifters and yoga students to take my place. You'll forget all about me.

As for now, I still belong to Old Gym until the end of the month. It would just be too awkward to go back.

"This Blog Will Be Regularly Updated!"

Okay, so here's a New Year's resolution:

"At least through May, this blog will be updated no less than once per week."

So it shall be.

Come, my friends, and rejoice in this electronic literary blessedness.