The clown that wouldn't smile
This morning's random wake up noise came from a (kit) drummer and a guitarist. It was nice of them to turn the volume up. They were able to make sure I got an early start to my day as well as sharing their fisrt rehearsal and I hope (for their sake) the first time they've ever played musical instruments. As I lay in bed, I admired Toolio the cat's ability to withstand the sonic onslaught. It is the first day of summer so my guess is that the noise makers were a couple kids happy to finally do what they want to do. Thusly motivated, I pop out of bed like a slice of bread transformed into toast. As my feet touch the ground, the sounds of banging and guitar warfare cease. Thank goodness for treaties or truces or maybe it was Mom or Dad.
The yoga studio is my first stop today. This is my asylum. My sanctuary. The place I prayed for. In the past I had to do these exercises in parks, under a bridge, on a trailer porch, a friend's frontyard. The past 16 months I have had the privelige to access the premier setting to get reconnected to my self. To switch from anxiety mode to calm mode. When pollution becomes omnipresent, it becomes invisible. A toxic ocean. Chemical mayhem. Normal neuroses.
Toolio the cat is there when I exit the temple, disembark from the DNA spaceship karma mechanic shop. We sit on the steps together, I stroke him and caress his face. We watch the birds dash throught the air and rest in the trees. We listen to their songs and conversations. Have you ever seen a cat smile?
Bill's Volvo drives nice. It is smooth blue and new. The radio doesn't work so we can only give it an A-. I'll be the one that fixes that thing. I drive to the Ojai Valley Inn. I am dropping off 10 cases of white wine. The note says go thru the service entrance. This is one big inn. I go thru what I've always thought was the service entrance. I wait for 5 minutes for this valle dude who then finally tells me to go to the front desk. I wait 10 minutes for her to clue me in to the location. When I get there I am again met with the corporate mask pesona. I guess every one who works there has their own personality erased and replaced with the Ojai Valley Inn's version of pretension. I unload the 10 cases my self while 3 Inn employees stand around and talk.
Back on the estate, I experience my thoughts weaving webs, a battalion of spiders that needs to be fed thru problem solving or problem invention, it does not matter to them, they just want to do something. Down the steps, into the basement where my clothes reside, I put on some board shorts and running shoes.
As I am running down the driveway, Devin sees me and says: "Uhht oh, there he goes."
He's 30 feet behind me when I say: "This is the view your gonna have."
"What? I'm gonna be this close?"
"With binoculars."
Despite the heat, the run goes nicely. I'm still taking it easy. Don't push it. Just get the heart beating, lungs breathing and muscles woken up. At the top of my run, at the forest road gate, I stretch my calves, hamstrings and quads. The return is all downhill and soo effortless. I decide to hop in the pool and swim several laps. Great way to end the workout.
The yellow Toyota truck gets a carwash, window cleaning and vacuum while I read the sports section on the heroics of Big Shot Bob. The drive down to Santa Monica is uneventful except for an accident (a guy rear ended some lady) that only happened about 50 cars in front of me.
I arrive early enough to walk around Venice Beach's boardwalk. That place never changes, same sunglasses, same paintings, pictures, t-shirts. But there was this clown that I've never seen before. He looked good although he could have smiled.
LAX is crawling with motorcycle cops when I arrive. Keeping us all safe from the boogeyman. I am 30 minutes early. Read a little bit of Palahniuk's "Diary", call up Skip's curator: Linda. She lets me know the flight number. Turns out I came at the right time. We talk for a little bit, I inform her of the "Skip at 18" post, give her BS's URL and tell her about the 1963 article on Skip.
Seems like Skip is one of the last off the plane. He looks tired, his eyelids hang, he's wearing a t-shirt, shorts and sandals with white socks. We walk to the car. Skip: "I thought since the plane was early that I'd have some time to sit and think, oh well."
We reach the car, I say "Do you recognize it?" (first wash in 6 months)
"Looks the same."
We exit LAX with me driving. I inform Skip of my post based on the 1963 article. "Do you still think morality's on the decline?"
"Morality's been declining ever since."
The music only flows from one speaker but at least the radio works. The tuner sort of changes stations now and I am able to tune into the bandwidths producing the rock I want: Stone Temple Pilots, ColdPlay, Led Zeppelin, Sheryl Crow. for the last 80 minutes we do not talk just listen to the music on the radio. We arrive at 8:30 but Antonio's has closed early. I stop outside The Hub to check if they are televising the Spurs/Piston basketball game. It turns out they are; so Skip leaves me there and drives the last half mile or so up the hill to his hovel home.
The yoga studio is my first stop today. This is my asylum. My sanctuary. The place I prayed for. In the past I had to do these exercises in parks, under a bridge, on a trailer porch, a friend's frontyard. The past 16 months I have had the privelige to access the premier setting to get reconnected to my self. To switch from anxiety mode to calm mode. When pollution becomes omnipresent, it becomes invisible. A toxic ocean. Chemical mayhem. Normal neuroses.
Toolio the cat is there when I exit the temple, disembark from the DNA spaceship karma mechanic shop. We sit on the steps together, I stroke him and caress his face. We watch the birds dash throught the air and rest in the trees. We listen to their songs and conversations. Have you ever seen a cat smile?
Bill's Volvo drives nice. It is smooth blue and new. The radio doesn't work so we can only give it an A-. I'll be the one that fixes that thing. I drive to the Ojai Valley Inn. I am dropping off 10 cases of white wine. The note says go thru the service entrance. This is one big inn. I go thru what I've always thought was the service entrance. I wait for 5 minutes for this valle dude who then finally tells me to go to the front desk. I wait 10 minutes for her to clue me in to the location. When I get there I am again met with the corporate mask pesona. I guess every one who works there has their own personality erased and replaced with the Ojai Valley Inn's version of pretension. I unload the 10 cases my self while 3 Inn employees stand around and talk.
Back on the estate, I experience my thoughts weaving webs, a battalion of spiders that needs to be fed thru problem solving or problem invention, it does not matter to them, they just want to do something. Down the steps, into the basement where my clothes reside, I put on some board shorts and running shoes.
As I am running down the driveway, Devin sees me and says: "Uhht oh, there he goes."
He's 30 feet behind me when I say: "This is the view your gonna have."
"What? I'm gonna be this close?"
"With binoculars."
Despite the heat, the run goes nicely. I'm still taking it easy. Don't push it. Just get the heart beating, lungs breathing and muscles woken up. At the top of my run, at the forest road gate, I stretch my calves, hamstrings and quads. The return is all downhill and soo effortless. I decide to hop in the pool and swim several laps. Great way to end the workout.
The yellow Toyota truck gets a carwash, window cleaning and vacuum while I read the sports section on the heroics of Big Shot Bob. The drive down to Santa Monica is uneventful except for an accident (a guy rear ended some lady) that only happened about 50 cars in front of me.
I arrive early enough to walk around Venice Beach's boardwalk. That place never changes, same sunglasses, same paintings, pictures, t-shirts. But there was this clown that I've never seen before. He looked good although he could have smiled.
LAX is crawling with motorcycle cops when I arrive. Keeping us all safe from the boogeyman. I am 30 minutes early. Read a little bit of Palahniuk's "Diary", call up Skip's curator: Linda. She lets me know the flight number. Turns out I came at the right time. We talk for a little bit, I inform her of the "Skip at 18" post, give her BS's URL and tell her about the 1963 article on Skip.
Seems like Skip is one of the last off the plane. He looks tired, his eyelids hang, he's wearing a t-shirt, shorts and sandals with white socks. We walk to the car. Skip: "I thought since the plane was early that I'd have some time to sit and think, oh well."
We reach the car, I say "Do you recognize it?" (first wash in 6 months)
"Looks the same."
We exit LAX with me driving. I inform Skip of my post based on the 1963 article. "Do you still think morality's on the decline?"
"Morality's been declining ever since."
The music only flows from one speaker but at least the radio works. The tuner sort of changes stations now and I am able to tune into the bandwidths producing the rock I want: Stone Temple Pilots, ColdPlay, Led Zeppelin, Sheryl Crow. for the last 80 minutes we do not talk just listen to the music on the radio. We arrive at 8:30 but Antonio's has closed early. I stop outside The Hub to check if they are televising the Spurs/Piston basketball game. It turns out they are; so Skip leaves me there and drives the last half mile or so up the hill to his hovel home.
posted by Dij at 10:37 PM
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