Sticky Floor Friday

A few times a week, Steve updates his entertainment editorial site, Nerd With Words.  And every Friday he posts a video segment he likes to call, "Sticky Floor Friday," a quick discussion/critique of new films being released into theaters that week.  Usually he does this solo.  Today was different.  

Introducing, The Remake: It's the same, but only better.

Ah, Traffic: LA's Brain-stabbing Charm

As promised, I left Corey's this morning and headed straight up the coast, making quick stops in Marina Del Ray, Venice and Santa Monica, just to look around and explore the area. The coast is within sight, although the cold breeze and frigid waters weren't attracting many crowds along the beach. In fact, they looked rather sparse. To its defense though, it was a Thursday morning when I was passing through this area, and I would imagine most people are at work by now. I didn't mind though, as it was more room for me to stretch my legs.

Not long ago, I was asked to consider moving to LA, something I was extremely hesitant about, mainly because there are so many other places I would rather live; Portland, Denver and San Francisco topping that list. However, these areas were different. I actually really like it down here and I could've seen myself enjoying the area. It's a chill, beach-vibe where obviously people work hard to maintain their existence in the area, but life isn't taken too seriously and everyone sort of just wants to enjoy the day. It's a far cry from the land-locked LA that I've mainly been exposed to up until now. Down here along the coast, it's just...cool.

Upon arriving in Santa Monica, I walked up and down the pier alone for the first time since I'd first visited LA, constantly allowing the sights and sounds to trigger old memories from the last time I was there. I had a photo taken of me then, as well as the time before that, both in the same corner of the pier with the hills above Malibu far in the distance. Just adjacent to that corner, a seagull overhead had unloaded a huge, white glob of shit all down the front of my shirt. I laughed then, and checking overhead for any stealthy feathered bombers (there were none close enough to be a threat) I laughed again at the thought of the incident repeating itself. Passing up a third photo op of myself in that corner, I headed back towards the car and hopped on Santa Monica Avenue towards Hollywood.

1:18pm - Santa Monica. 1:52pm - Beverly Hills. 2:35pm - West Hollywood. 2:58pm - Paramount Studios. 3:15pm - Rudy's Barbershop in East Hollywood. Total driving distance? 9.8 miles. Now I remember why I didn't want to move to LA.

When I was in LA two years ago, I got my hair cut at this place called Rudy's, just down the street from my cousin's place. It's got a hipster vibe to it, being located in an old car garage and covered with magazine cut-outs and cool ad designs from the ceiling to the floor. With my shag getting a bit out of control, I figured that it was finally time to do something about it and what better place to have it done? It just seemed to make sense. So, I walked it and was immediately paired up with a guy named Keith that had, within the span of 40 minutes, turned my rag hag head into a closely cropped textured cut that I hadn't seen on myself since before June. Following the chop, I headed over to my cousin Kim's place where I hung out with her husband Myke for a while before we went around the corner to dinner at a place called The Alcove. I've been there before and their sandwiches are phenomenal, so I jumped at the chance to go. After dinner, I said my goodbye's to Myke and bowled through traffic once again in order to get to my old friend Steve's place in Studio City.

Almost immediately upon my arrival, Steve had to leave for a roller hockey game, which I was more than happy to attend when he asked if I wanted to come. Sure, I could've used the rest, but what fun would that have been? Steve's been playing since we were kids and at one point in our lives tried to get me into it as well. I failed miserably and he decided at that point to continue concentrating on his own efforts instead of helping me sort through mine.

The game was fun and Steve's team won, giving us more of a reason to celebrate when we got back to his place. Waiting for us was his girlfriend Stephanie, and after Steve got a chance to shower, the three of us headed down the block to a place called the Fox and Hounds, a neat little English Pub that soon became filled with the amplified sounds of aucoustic guitars and folk-like vocals. Over the next few hours we downed our beers and enjoyed the atmosphere, only deciding to head back after the band had stopped playing and the tables had started clearing out.

I'm now ready for bed and about to get some much needed rest, knowing full well that tomorrow is about to be another very long and busy day. I'm hoping to head down to Newport Beach fairly early, but judging from today's traffic, getting from here to El Segundo is going to be hard enough. And suddenly I realize, I'm way too tired to even think about it.

El Segundo

Catching up on some things at home, I feel as if the day is already wasting away, so I'm going to keep this entry short and save the photo uploads for later on tonight, to give me the opportunity to get in all the things I want to do for the remainder of the day.

I landed safely last night at about 8:00 and met my friend Corey at the airport. She lives in El Segundo, just about ten minutes south of LAX, so it was extremely convienient for the both of us. She's out of town for most of the time I'm here, so she recently offered me her car and a place to crash to save me the expenses of renting a car and dealing with all of that hassle. Upon leaving the airport, we made it back to her apartment, where she had a huge pot of vegan lentil soup waiting, filling the apartment with an aroma that made me realize that the small ham sandwich i had on the plane wasn't quite enough to cut it for the rest of the night. We chowed down on the soup and some salad we both prepared and hung out around the area the rest of the night, catching up on old times and figuring out all of the things that I can do here for the rest of the trip.

Corey has a job interview in New Jersey for the next few days, so I dropped her off at the airport just about two hours ago, and came back here, taking the opportunity to catch up on email and some missed phone calls before I head out. I'm going to walk on the beach for a bit, then head up to the Hollywood area where I'm going to meet up with my cousin's husband at his recording studio, then over to Studio City to meet Mr. Steve and his girlfriend Stephanie. We talked about heading out around his area tonight, so it seems as if I'm going to be crashing up in that area of town. There might be a bonus addition to the blog from that visit, with it being the eve of Friday and all, so check back tomorrow for any further updates.

On that note, it's 11:00 and I need to bolt. Sand and surf await, even if it is colder here than it is in Cleveland. ...figures.

There's One Hour Left in the Flight...

There’s an hour left in the flight.

No longer able to stare out the window at the ever-changing landscape of cumulous and cirrus cloud formations, I turn to my laptop, desperate for a bit of music and the gothic ambiance of The Cure that might drown out the screaming child four rows behind me. …It’s not working.

The sky is dark now, and only a few spotted lights of small, rural American towns are visible in-between the porous pockets among the clouds below me. I find myself wishing that I were actually passing through them, and not above them, to explore their diners and their traditions as I traverse westward along lost roads towards the Pacific. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again, and hopefully a bit sooner rather than later. The lights have disappeared behind the darkening clouds of dusk now, and the window becomes pitch. There’s an hour left to the flight, and although my eyes are heavy from the drone of the engines and the lack of sleep I obtained last night, I’m getting restless. So, I write.

Six and a half hours ago, I grabbed my pack and suitcase and walked six blocks from my office towards Tower City Center, where I would board the RTA train straight into Cleveland Hopkins Airport. It was a 30-minute straight shot on the Red Line, for those that have never taken it, offering passage through the dismal and rusted landscape of Cleveland, Ohio. The ride is speckled with gutted buildings and boarded up windows, a sad glimpse into what used to be an extremely strong industrial Mecca…a time that has long passed, and one we may never see again. There are beautiful, breath-taking parts to Cleveland. The Red Line avoided each and every one of them.

Another break in the clouds and I see lights! An enormous city in the midst of nothing. For a second I hope that it’s Phoenix and I look for Shaw Butte, the mountain that my uncle’s house sits at the base of. Then I realize I’m looking at Vegas. My enthusiasm drops exponentially. Back to work.

Back at the airport, I check in relatively quickly and make it through security with no problem. They didn’t search me or strip me down to my skivvies like they did in Cincinnati, nor did they pigeonhole me as a terrorist because of my darkening beard. No, this time they let me pass without question. However, I did see the man that gave us all the hassle about Lisa’s luggage only two weeks ago and charged her $100 for checking a snowboard bag…because she padded it with clothes. (It should’ve only have been $15, like the rest of us had paid) He was wearing a red vest this time, an obvious compliment to his superiority complex, separating him from the rest of his peon agents that sadly have to report their duties to him. I contemplate running up and kicking him in his shin. Images of handcuffs and the prospect of cavity searches fill my brain. I move on.

While waiting for the call for boarding, I pass the time holding conversation and small talk with a woman sitting next to me in the terminal. She’s going to law school and is going out to LA for business. I tell her I’m out there visiting friends, when I get the call from Sarah that Kino is alive and well, riding comfortably in her car towards Medina where he’ll stay for the rest of the week until I return. She claims they’re best friends now and I smile, knowing full well that he’ll trust anyone that offers him a ride in their car. Just as I get off the phone, they call for my row and I wish Law-school woman (who’s name I never got) a safe flight and I board the plane.

Five hours, a ham sandwich, two glasses of tomato juice and a miserable game of computer chess later, the captain announces that we’re starting our descent. Thirty minutes left in the air and I’m anxious to stretch my legs. My ears are popping and I think the man next to me just farted. I hope he’s not reading this as I type.

Going to California...

With a little bit of help from Kino, I've gotten everything packed, and I'm pretty much set to go. Chris has the house in order, Sarah's picking up Kino after work and bringing him down to her place in Medina where he'll spend the week in the company of her other dogs (and a cat...which should prove interesting), and I've brought all my stuff into work so that I don't have to worry about getting a ride into the airport. So in about six hours, I'll be heading on a train from Downtown Cleveland to Hopkin's International Airport, where I'll board a direct flight at 5:15, arriving straight into Los Angeles, California around 7:30.

This is a mental health trip, and I feel like I need it. I'm going to see some friends that I don't get to hang out with often enough, hopefully see a college buddy's year-old twins, drive up the coast a bit, do some hiking, and just relax. I don't have a schedule. I don't have an itinerary. Aside from what looks to be a fun night in Hollywood on Saturday, nothing's really planned and I just want to keep it that way. The goal is to come home from a vacation where I'm actually more relaxed than I was when I left.

For everyone asking, no...I'm not going to see Stephanie. It was hard, but I thought it best that we kept our distance for awhile, so as not to confuse things. She agreed and we're going to spend this next week apart, doing our own separate things. Maybe we'll see each other in a few months when she comes back to visit for the holidays, but for the time being, ...well, it'll just be easier this way on both of us.

Some certain Zeppelin lyrics come to mind as I go...and in all honesty, it really isnt quite as hard as it seems.

Ohio Snow

Last night, at about 11:25 eastern time, we landed in Cleveland, about 20 minutes earlier than expected. Although the beginning of the trip showed signs of long delays, we made all of our connections, and arrived back in Ohio safe and sound. That however, did not make the trip feel any shorter. It was a long, long day.

We woke up in the morning, packed our things, and met the shuttle in front of our lodge at about 10:45am. Contrary to our previous ride up to Breck, we were now traveling back through the Rockies in broad daylight, allowing for what may have been one of the more informative, entertaining rides I've taken in a long time. This guy knew everything. He pointed out how to spot mines in the canyons around us, and how to tell each between a gold mine and a silver mine. He gave us a thorough history of the towns we passed through, and the surrounding peaks that towered over us as we wound our way down the hill. Dog sledding, big-horned mountain sheep, Clive Cussler and plate techtonics were just a few of the other subjects covered. Two hours flew by like nothing.

Upon arriving at the airport, we immediately found out that our flight was delayed 45 minutes. Which, soon after turned into 90, then 110. No matter, we had a delay in Chicago that was over three hours, so we sat around Denver's airport for the next three hours (we were fairly early to begin with), ate some food and enjoyed the fateful procrastonation of actually making it out of the state of Colorado. (pronounced 'Call-a-rad-duh' by the natives...interesting tidbit) As we were getting on the plane, the Superbowl started. When we landed, there were five minutes left in the game.

Every year I go to one Superbowl party or another, watching the game with friends, having a few beers and enjoying pot-luck food that is in no way shape or form, healthy for you. To be honest, a lot of those parties run together. This year was memorable.

Garrett, Lisa, Claire and I were gathered in Chicago's airport, eyes glued to the television set at the gate, watching the game's last five minutes on the clock, which as far as I know, could've been the most exciting. Here were are, with at least 30 strangers, blatently ignoring the flight attendent's pleas to board the plane as the timer counted down. Pittsburgh scored. Cheers were heard. Yells of disapproval echoed through the cooridor. Six minutes left in boarding time. Arizona fumbles. Some guy at another gate screams "FUCK!" at the top of his lungs. Fifteen seconds left of game time. The Steelers win. ...I'm the last one on the plane, and the gates are shut behind me.

An hour and a half later, we landed in Cleveland. The first thing I thought when I walked outside was how different the snow is here as compared to Breckenridge. It was clean there. White. Fluffy. People didn't mind snow on the sidewalks. Here it's dirty. Hard. Stained with salt and grit. I laughed at the irony of being home.

We're all safe now, home and settled back into our daily lives, and I'm about to head into work. Reality begins again, but it was a fantastic break. And soon, the travels will begin once more.

Until then.

Heading Home

The distant caw of the crow.
Rays of morning light seep into the room.

The trip has come to an end.

We left the condo around 8:00 last night and made our way across town to a Restaurant named the Motherloaded Tavern.  On the way, we stopped in a few of the stores that Claire and Lisa had seen earlier in the day to find some memorabilia to take home with us, back to Cleveland.  

Claire picked up a few magnets, and Lisa grabbed a t-shirt.  

I actually returned later while we were waiting for a table and picked out a Breckenridge Ski Patrol Search & Rescue hat. Garrett however...ah, Garrett...bought a Breckenridge t-shirt with a collage of wolves printed across the front.  You know the type of image, the kind they sell in truck stops and motorcycle shops, worn primarily by said truckers and bikers as they migrate from one state to another.  It was freaking hysterical, and he's wearing it with pride.

We sat down at the Motherloaded for our final dinner in town and spent most of the time reflecting on the past few days and when we'll all have the chance to return, hopefully then with a larger representation of our friends so that we can all enjoy this trip together.  We all talked about how great it would be to pack up our things and head out west, whether it be Denver, Breckenridge, or even farther west and north, as long as we have access to the mountains and the trails that would lead us into a simpler life.  One devoid of mortgages and careers, economic struggles and the general stress of everyday life.  How we could wake up in the morning, grab a quick bite to eat and head out on the trail with our canine companions, only to return later in the day and work into the evening at a ski shop or mountain store, followed by a drink or two at the local pub and then home, where we prepare for yet another day of freedom from the constraints of a career-orientated existence. 

 

After finishing our salads and steaks, Lisa decided to head home and get a head start on packing, while Claire, Garrett and I dropped into Ullr's bar again to finish the night with a few games of pool and air hockey.  We tipped back a few rounds with the locals and before long, found ourselves walking up the stairs to our condo and saying one last good-bye to Breckenridge's nightlife.  

So now we're all packed, and ready to go.  The girls are still sleeping, Garrett is in the shower, and within a few hours we'll be on our way back to Denver, amidst the mass exodus of a weekend ski town, only to fly our way to Chicago, then finally back to Cleveland later on tonight.  Hopefully we won't have any issues on our way back home.  The weather looks clear and we've been blessed with good fortune so far.  Let's just cross our fingers that it continues into Ohio, at which time I'll probably submit one final entry for this chapter of the blog.  Goodbye, Breckenridge.  We'll see each other again, I'm sure.