Thursday, March 12, 2009

The Greatest Blog Post in the History of Mankind

Good afternoon blog readers.  I’m coming from you live from the Reno-Tahoe International Airport on this Thursday afternoon.  Not sure why the airport has “International” in its name…you can’t even fly to Vancouver from here anymore.  Nevertheless, it has been a long time since I’ve posted.  I’ve been doing some travelling and thinking.  This blog has been written in several pieces…hope it isn’t all over the place.

 

Back in the High Life Again

After departing Los Angeles on Saturday afternoon I headed down to Pacific Beach to drink with Ryan Z, Topper, and CT.  A few beers, a few shots, a few laughs…good times.  Walked by the tattoo place where I got my ear pierced two years ago…still looks like an AIDS emporium.  One thing I noticed about Pacific Beach is that you don’t need to have a job to live there.  Perfect for me.

Saturday also marked the first time I’ve worn a shirt with buttons since Christmas.  Baby steps back to society.  Baby steps.

A very hungover half hour of driving on Sunday brought me to Jamul – a little town located in the hills east of San Diego – to visit my aunt and uncle.  The last time I was here was 1989 and, although the place looks a little smaller, it is still fucking huge.   Now if the house weren’t impressive by itself, the rest of the grounds are.  About three acres of plants and trees surround the house.  There are every type of citrus plant imaginable – including orange-grapefruit hybrids – olive trees, palms, and coconuts.  In fact, I spent about an hour Sunday afternoon just walking around the house and eating fruit right off the trees.  A pretty standard Sunday afternoon for me.

What else do you need in life?  Oh…wait…how about four satellite dishes?  How many channels can you get with four satellite dishes?  All of them.  Yes, every channel in the world.  Seriously.


My Monday included taking a drive up to Temecula to visit my aunt and uncle’s other home and to stop at a few wineries.  I got a chance to shop for some lovely sconces and bric-a-brac…it was exhilarating.  I needed something to tie the décor of my storage unit together.

I watched Jeopardy on Monday evening and, for about the 8th or 9th time in my life, got Final Jeopardy correct.  Benedict Arnold.  Piece of cake.

 

David

David (of “David’s Corner”) is currently on vacation in Egypt.  Those of you who know David are probably thinking, “What the fuck?”  Exactly.  Not sure how a man who eats nothing more than plain hot dogs and chicken nuggets will survive in that country for more than a day.  I mean, fuck, he already looks like he just busted out of Dachau.

Speaking of Dachau (yes…I know that is a horrible transition), I spoke to David last week about his trip.  I told him to watch out that the Egyptians don’t try to re-enslave him to touch up the pyramids.  I need him back here so that he can sing Ave Maria, wearing a Gumby costume, at my funeral.

Thinking about pyramids brings up my favorite Golden Girls conversation of all time.  Dorothy and Rose are trying to install a new toilet and are having some trouble…

Rose:  If the Egyptians can build the pyramids, we can do this.

Dorothy:  Fine, go get me 10,000 Jews and I’ll be right there.

 

MDR versus The Choz

The Choz told me this story a few weeks ago and I enjoyed it so much that I asked him to write up the transcript and send it to me.  For those of you who know MDR and The Choz…this will be enjoyable.

In early January 2009, I set out to obtain the addresses of friends and family members in order to build an invitation list.  I sent a text to MDR asking for his address.  I expected a text back listing his property address, city and zip code.  Instead I received two voicemails.

Voicemail #1

MDR:  If you need my address so you can send a wedding invitation, I want you to know that I will be coming solo and I’ll take the fish.

Voicemail #2

MDR:  Oh, and my address is…

 

Another One Bites the Dust

Earlier this week, the fine people at HSBC informed Ukraine that his business services are no longer needed and that he is now unemployed.  Welcome to the club Danny!  We should get matching rings or broaches.

 

My Tuesday Adventure

I woke up early on Tuesday morning and did what I always do on Tuesdays…picked fruit.  Filled up a box to send to my parents, leave in South Lake, and give to Mexico.

I hit the road at 9:30 a.m. and hopped back on the 5 to L.A.  From there I took the 405 to the 10 untiil I ended up at the Pacific Ocean.  The next 9 hours of my day were spent driving up Highway 1 and Highway 101…the PCH.

 

Poor Choices

Not sure why I didn’t attend Pepperdine University…probably because I didn’t have $200K lying around.  The view from Pepperdine is incredible.  Took this one at the gate to the university…oh yeah…its gated.  Wouldn’t let me through.  Motherfuckers.


Donnie

“…as a surfer he explored the beaches of Southern California, from La Jolla to Leo Carrillo and... up to Pismo…”

North of Malibu, Santa Barbara, and Solvang I hit Pismo Beach.  Wow.  I’ve never driven my car on the beach before and really, really, really enjoyed doing it.

My dirty girl on the beach.

 

The Long and Winding Road

My original plans were to head to San Luis Obispo for the night and then continue on in the morning.  I got to San Luis Obispo at about 6 and realized I wanted to keep going…so I continued up Highway 1.  The sun was setting, I rolled down the windows, and cruised.  I felt like Ben Braddock driving up to Berkeley.

Don't look down.

Now I’m not too high on nature and I don’t really care too much about sunrises or sunsets, but what I witnessed on Tuesday was remarkable.  I was all alone, standing on the cliffs at the side of the road, and watching the sun go down...good stuff.

I hopped back on my car, popped in Van Morrison’s Moondance and hit the gas.  Played 'er twice through.

Voice Notes

After about 10 hours of driving I started to lose it and, of course, talk to myself…so I recorded what I was saying.

 

8:07 p.m.

I didn’t have a car in front of me, or behind me, from San Luis Obispo until now, just south of Big Sur.

 

8:12 p.m.

At some point, this Pontiac G6 better shift to competitive driving mode or I’m going to ram them off the fucking road.

 

8:22 p.m.

Its official, there are zero FM radio stations right now.  A quick scan, a quick seek…nothing.  So what do I do?  I pop in a little Dire Straits…Brothers in Arms.

 

8:34 p.m.

Gas station stop, first time in the trip, after 1,138 miles, I finally purchase beef jerky.

Conversation with the Mexican woman clerk:

MW:  Do you want a bag for this?

DR:  No thanks.  But could you please tell me where I am?

MW:  You’re in Carmel.  What are you looking for?

DR:  Oh…I’m not looking for anything…just driving.  Have a goodnight.

MW:  (laughing)  Goodnight.

 

10:33 p.m.

Star 92.7…bringing you 92 hits every night…no commercials…”serving all of the motherload”…I don’t know what that means, but fuck, it is awesome.

 

11:34 p.m.

Skittles, Red Bull, and Achtung Baby…the stuff that dreams are made of.

 

12:23 a.m.

Somewhere east of Placerville and I’m talking to myself in a southern accent…”breaker, breaker, this is Snowman, come on”.

 

12:34 a.m.

For the second time tonight…I am the only car driving on the road that I am on…starting to sound like a shitty Train song.

 

12:52 a.m.

Finally, another car on the road…a new personal record for high beams.

 

1:02 a.m.

A fitting song to conclude my journey…”America”.

 

1:28 a.m.

Well…made it back…1:28 a.m. which makes 16 hours on the road…1,426.3 miles on the entire trip…no speeding tickets…didn’t hit anyone…money for nothing, and your chicks for free.

3 comments:

  1. Tremendous post Daniel. The PCH drive is incredible, provided you can stay on the road.

    Chicago awaits.

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  2. Fucking brilliant.

    I especially enjoyed the big ups to Dachau.

    Wish I was in the passenger seat, DR.

    The Jew

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  3. Well i came across your blog while trying to determine if bisesquicentennial was a word. Overall enjoyable read and my vote is for demimillennial.

    ReplyDelete