Sunday, September 2, 2007

Los Angeles: Part I

I got on the plane jubilant and hungover Wednesday afternoon and haven't looked back. The sky when I arrived was this crystal sapphire with splattered puffy clouds.

The first day I put my feet in the Pacific ocean and looked back at LA, back at Indianapolis and Boston and you. It was so cold and blue. I ate seafood.

Five days in a row I was surprised by the apparently random incorporation by outside influences of Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" Is the universe trying to tell me something?

I went to Disneyland, somewhere I thought for some reason I'd never see. Maegan and I wore matching polo dresses and pretended to be a lesbian couple. I rode Space Mountain with my hands up screaming like a kid, and did Pirates of the Caribbean twice.

Today I saw Michael Madsen at a chili cook-off in Malibu. And check; I sighted my movie star.

Amber, Travis, and I went to the beach afterward and wrestled the Pacific. Her waves are irreverent and swell high and fast, pushing and pulling you, so different from the neurotic, limp waves of the Atlantic. So loving but so cold.

Today she was violent. When you swim in her, you fight her, leaping with the waves, falling under, choking salt. Her water is filled with sands not soft and white, but harsh rock shards which pelt, cut, and bruise. The waves throw you against these sands and drag you back again and again. When you step out, your skin is scraped pink and raw, and you will never win, and even as you fight her you love her, so you go and lie by the boulders in the blasting sun for a while listening to her waves.

Driving back to Amber's apartment on the PCH, watching the sunset (sun setting, not rising here) over the ocean, I saw a group of dolphins jumping in the water.

I miss everyone, but I can't even think of coming home right now.

To be continued...

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