So my friend was coming to see a play (Same Time, Next Year). Perhaps you remember the movie with Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn. To be honest, it makes me uncomfortable. I don't know why the idea of unfaithfulness makes me so uncomfortable. It bothers me. The whole movie, i'm fidgetting and scratching; the whole play, I was doing the same.
So, my friend's going to the play. She invited me. I'm sure you understand that watching the play being performed for the first time where the movie was filmed was too good an idea to pass up. Plus, I was getting a little sick and tired of the dulldrum of everyday life. So, Friday at 9:00pm, I got in my car and started driving. It was a hot night in the valley (San Fernando Valley), but going over the hill, the air cooled significantly. There was a breeze. There were a million other people coming with me, but they all had the sense of moving faster than a turtle, so it was ok--I don't mind the traffic, I mind driving slowly.
The air got warmer just as we reached the bottom of the hill. However, that's when the smell of cow crap started, and it didn't end till I was about to turn to cut across from the I-5 to the I-101 so I could head up to San Francisco. Now, under normal circumstances, I'd have gone up on the I-5 to the I-580, cut across Oakland and right into San Francisco--but there was this sign saying the bridge would be closed. Once I finally made it around (not quite twice the distance, but a bit out of the way anyways) I found another sign that said the bridge would be closed on Labor Day weekend. Nice. Thanks!
Now, that was far enough, as far as I was concerned, but I was going further, and I wanted to see the sun rise over the lovely beaches I had seen on Mamacita's blog (see link to the right). So I drove on--all night, even--till I got to where I was going. The picture above I took only this morning. I had no energy left for blogging yesterday, after the insane drive a three-hour nap and rushing over to the play.
The air is insanely clean here. I feel like sticking my nose in my exhaust pipe so I don't get addicted. And despite the beauty, friendliness of the people here, and all that jazz, I'll be heading back to civilization soon enough. Sitting at Starbucks now, an island of familiarity in this otherwise pristine ocean of white faces, I am reminded how much I love glass, concrete, pavement and steel, the noise of traffic and two in the morning, the whirring of machinery constantly at attention, awaiting our every wish. I am a environmentalist in the sense that I'd be well-served to see nature in only the briefest of visits, leave it unmarked and undisturbed, and round up most humans into their own reservations, to be let out only short periods and only after extensive training in the matter. I realize, however, that there are rights you might think you have to live in this nature--not realizing perhaps that your presence there is detrimental to the very nature you seek to join.
Be that as it may, I am here now, and nobody seems to be leaving, so I will leave. I've been here enough. It's not that I didn't like it--it's just that I'm done with it. I wonder what heaven looks like. I wonder if I'll get this bored of it this quickly.
Turns out I still haven't found what I'm looking for...
1 comment:
First of all, I am not "a" friend, so I am offended.
And, I am just as offended as I am captivated by how you took the whole experience in. I, for one, am still reeling, but i know we would both go nuts (as evident by the lack of wireless connectivity in Pine Beach) if we stayed longer than we should.
Me, i have been starry eyed since.
You, well you're better at being in the moment, and i'm better at talking about it.
My life has changed in many ways that i have yet to get my arms around, let alone my chaotic brain, because of the last few days, spent in a place i was a virgin to.
I am infinitely pleased you were there with me.
I want to grow up and be a writer like you one day... it's the light in the distance, and it's not Motel Fucking 6.
Post a Comment