We drink whiskey and cokes and dine at late night taco trucks. We laugh at descriptions of television shows and smoke filtered cigarettes. We are the young and the not-so-young, the beautiful and hideous, dancing to the same DJ. We are the weekend warriors, fighting a war with our work-week selves.
My new couch was delivered this morning and I immediately took a nap on it. It came with scotch guard for those inevitable spills. If only we came with scotch guard too. I paid an extra hundred dollars for buttons — that sounds like a lot but it comes out to only five dollars a button. Now I need to buy some pillows. It’s the beginning a long relationship.
It’s Sunday and the sparrows are sleeping in. The churches are filled with women in bonnets and men in suits praying and singing. Blue Jam Cafe on Melrose is busy stacking pancakes and the winos are waking up to the a sun that is surgical in its execution.
George Zimmer from Men’s Wearhouse is a cool guy.
I like Sun Kill Moon’s version of Modest Mouse’s ‘Ocean Breaths Salty’ better than the original. I used to idolize Isaac Brock. But as we both got older we both realized he’s just another guy that read too much Bukowski. Now I get up early and worship the sun. Time blooms. It opens up and swallows us like a Venus Fly Trap. I’ve never lived in New York City. I’ve never been to Paris. I’ve never learned how to whistle with my hands.
It’s such a diamond of a day that I’m heading west to do some hiking and soaking up the sun. I’m fully rested from my nap and energized by a fresh, juicy orange. They say you can’t compare apples and oranges but you can a lot more than you can compare apples and Volkswagons.
Maybe when I get on the road I’ll keep driving. Who knows? Maybe I’ll drive right pass Malibu and keep going. There are mountain lions in Griffith Park. There are sharks in Silver Lake. There are bloodsuckers in the Fairfax District. But today all the animals of this city are beautiful, happy creatures. That’s the kind-of day it is.
Things to do before I die:
- Make my things-to-do-before-I-die list.
So far 2010 has been a magical year. The weather in the Southland has been phenomenal. I have been in love with the city: the weathered old signs, the 1930’s buildings, the taco trucks, the fruit vendors, the motels in the ghetto with names like Shangri La or Paradise Inn, the lines at the yogurt shop, the gourmet burgers, the girls.
I’m not the only one. It’s seems like everybody has decided to be a little softer this year. Zen in 2010. Peaceful vibes dominate the scene. There’s a common hope that it’s going to be a better year.
I can get behind that.
When you think about it, life is a lot like a Junior High School dance. The first half is spent waiting around for something to happen. Then you start doing stupid shit with your friends. Messing around in the hallways. Sneaking cheap vodka in and pouring it into the juice. Near the end you get up the nerve to talk to a girl, ask her to dance and before you know it (usually a song or two, usually Sweet Child Of Mine by GNR) the lights go on and some person with temporary authority is yelling at you that that it’s time to go.
My soul is unbound and untethered. That’s why it blows around in the breeze.
There is nothing better in the world than a cold glass of water. Next time all the stress builds up and you want to scream, just sip some water and think about the mountain stream that it comes from and how the ocean and the clouds are just different forms of the same thing and so are your problems and their relief. If you just stop and breath, you might not suffocate under the pressure, you might float to the top. Look at me, I’m shirtless and spitless but am not afraid to stand up, chest-out, proudly excavating the creatures that stir my restless heart. Because it’s better to speak it and say it than to swallow it. All my regrets are things I didn’t do, didn’t say…
When you give someone your heart. Make sure they know how to water it.