swim out past the breakers. watch the world die.

I just got back from another trip to Southern California. That's me on the beach. It's actually not a bad photo for an obnoxious self-shot cell phone photo, except that my aim's not so good. I thought I had it all lined up, but I guess the Pacific Ocean's a lot prettier than I am anyway. You may notice that I'm smiling, though, because I was, at that moment, quite happy.

I'm scared to death of the water--going in it that is--but I've always loved the beach and the coast, and I do enjoy standing in the way of the tide and letting it splash over my feet and whatnot. It's a lot more noncommital than actually going into the water. The tide comes in, splashes me for a bit, and then it goes away for a while. Sometimes, on a good day, I'll stand in the same spot until the tide buries my feet in the sand. Today was one of those days.

This picture was taken on a beach in Santa Monica. I'm not sure what the name of the beach was, but it was right of California State Highway 1 (or the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH)). It was a small beach with just a few people that cost four bucks to park at and was surrounded by mountainous terrain. It was beautiful and I could have spent the whole day there if I didn't have to catch a plane back to the sweltering valley later in the day--even though the soles of my feet, always sheltered in socks and shoes, weren't prepared for the hot sand.

After that, we drove up the coast on the PCH through Malibu and the Malibu Canyon. It was pretty and boring and I loved every minute of it. We listened to Dennis Leary's No Cure for Cancer and sang along to "Asshole" twice. I remembered all the words.

It was the shortest and least eventful day of my two day/two night mini tour of Southern Ventura County and the Los Angeles-area, but it was probably my favorite. And that's counting watching the Mets beat the Dodgers 5 - 1 on Saturday.

Los Angeles was an amazing place. Even the poor folks seemed rich. There were many busted ass cars with hot ass rims, but true wealth was sported by those in the yellow cars. Yellow Hummers, yellow Ferraris--I even saw a yellow Lamborghini Diablo in Malibu. Yellow cars are ugly as sin, but they're really easy to notice. Truth be told, though, I didn't spend much time in Los Angeles proper. There was Dodgers Stadium, and after that a trip through East LA on Sunset Blvd to get to Universal City and their frightening outdoor mall called City Walk. We parked in a parking lot cleverly titled Jurassic Parking. No really. We ate at a chain restaurant called Buca Di Beppo, which I feared would carry an Olive Garden-y blandness, but I was happily proven wrong. Their meatballs are a half-pound of meat and sauce and garlic and it took three of us to finish one. All the food was served family style, and for 40 bucks, we fed three people and had leftovers. I was stoked.

I took a picture in front of the Universal Studios globe thing and stared at the large gate to the backlot for 10 minutes before I realized that was the place that they actually filmed the movies at. I watched people play karaoke on the pathway and went into a comic book store that was playing an episode of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. I didn't see any celebrities. I really wanted to.

Most of the time was either spent in Simi Valley, which was where they held the Rodney King trial and home to former president Ronald Reagan (I tried not to hold either of these facts against the place) or in the car, zipping around the area's many freeways. We were on the 1, 2, 5, 23, 101 and 118. I don't mind being in the car, and it was cool because each road sign reminded me of a song or a movie: the turn off for Reseda reminded me of Tom Petty's "Free Fallin'"; the exit for Encino brough back fond memories of Encino Man, the only watchable Pauly Shore movie.

Today, at the airport, I got delayed for well over an hour, so I spent a good amount of time in the airport bar nearest to my gate. There was a table full of dudes with fresh new 'dos, and I was sure they were in a band, but I couldn't place what band it was. I then had a conversation with the matronly bartender and a blonde woman who must have been a showgirl or something. She was beautiful and wearing shorts that were more like boxer shorts, but shorter and tighter. They--I'm not sure why--wanted my opinion on Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. The Bartender awaited my answer with anticipation and threatened not to refill my rum and coke unless I answered correctly. The Blonde looked on shrewdly. Backed into a corner, I said that Angelina's sexy, but I didn't think it was right for Brad to just break his vows like that (which was an honest opinion of something I don't have an opinion of). The Blonde and the Bartender approved. My drink was refilled, and the Blonde said that she had no idea why she knew so much about celebrity gossip, and the fact that she did kinda bothered her.

I want to go back. Two days in LA is like half a rail of coke--not that I've ever done coke, but I'd imagine it'd be something like that. And since we're talking about LA, a cocaine reference seems totally applicable. I need to go back and see the whole thing, especially because I didn't have time to get on The Price is Right or take a picture of Godzilla's star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.