What counts for normal

On a temperate, sun-kissed Sunday, I pulled up to the Ocean Towers in Santa Monica, ready for anything, I guess.  The valet seemed to give a disapproving look to my T shirt ("We Just Ruined Baseball") but I stood and waited.  I was then given a luggage cart and directed upwards.  I was politely greeted, and I entered a room with a view.  Me oh my, what a view.  You pay for a room with that kind of view, as you know, and that's why I was there.

1 year prior, not far from smoldering ash, this was even more prized real estate.  After a year of bouncing around, housesitting, whispered conversations, and finding out that no, you're not in good hands, she was able to return home.  I dragged out what I could for the first trip, and off we went in near silence.  

The glorious drive on PCH isn't usually filled with any negative emotion, but when I turned up Sunset, I realized I had to brace myself.  A banner that reads "Palisades Strong!" still stood a year later across the street from a former Mexican restaurant that still looks bombed out.  The turn up Palisades Drive was a bit different.  The swanky mini mall was repaired and open as if nothing had happened.  The Autumn rains had brought greenery.  Barricades were up for possible mudslides - nothing unusual.  I was nearly in a historic place when I was snapped to attention.  "Remember those buildings on the left?"  I did not.  All I saw was what looked like light poles.  In the flash of driving by, I was told "yeah, there were 2 condo buildings there.  They are going to rebuild one of them, I heard."  What I saw was, apparently, remnants of a parking lot.  On the way back down, I focused to see a bit of wreckage yet to be bulldozed out.  A magic trick vanished to time.

From the vantage point of her condo (and immediate surroundings), however...if you didn't know any better, nothing happened.  My mind was fooling me.  It was, until I walked in...bracing for the smell of old smoke, but instead it was that of new carpet and whatever scent is used by Stanley Steamer.  Most everything is still here.  I hauled up suitcase after suitcase.  A dinner menu from that evening just days before everything else went down still sits on a table.  I wonder if it's specifically there as a moment in time, or if she's afraid to toss it out.  

"You know, for a while I didn't want to come back.  Just find me a studio in Santa Monica or something.  But I've done a 360.  I wanted to get back here when I could.  It's home."  Fully understanding, I made a bed while she attempted to amble around.  Chores done, back for round 2.  I tried to relax but realized my attempt to help turned into a hostage situation: no food, no drink, no talk.  The ladies of my house asked why I was doing it.  I'd normally say no, maybe just volunteer money...but she's been nearly homeless a year.  I'm continuing to revisit that decision.

Back down the PCH after round 2, exhausted, I reiterate that I can't stay as she was already told: the Rams game is at 3:30.  "Are you sure you can't come Tuesday?"  Darn my full-time job.  Mentally, I broke right then.  Everything else was a "no."  She was dropped off and another valet could see my annoyance levels overdone.  

Well, what do I have to be annoyed with?  Shit, my house still stands.  Nothing has really changed for me over the past 12 months; I haven't had to move a family around.  Winding through Brentwood on the way back, eating "in case of Earthquake" food from my car, I eventually realized this was the kind of shit that used to happen, that had always happened.  I thought it'd be different post-fire, but no...this was "the usual."  And that's what I get for wanting the usual and "normal" back in my life: spending all day in the car, passive aggressive statements galore.  I allowed it to happen.  I shouldn't have expected any different.

Speaking of passive, I then tried to passively watch the Rams game, realized I couldn't, and then ate like a madman at dinner afterwards in "celebration."  Action on one's own terms, I suppose.  There would be no return the following day, so instead I sat with my neighbor's dogs, drinking iced tea, soaking in warmth.  All the dogs wanted was an acknowledgement of yes, you're a good pup.  That's good, because it's all I had left to give.

Unresolved questions for '26

The rains of the past week-plus have led me to a contemplative mood.  More than enough is steady in life (though why are the annoyances so fucking expensive?) that here on New Year's, ahead of '26, I'm including some questions I resolve to answer in the year ahead:

• I don't know if I'll be able to answer this one, but I will continue to enforce in teaching to others in my immediate surroundings that Dealmaking must mean actual deals and not "spending money" - why has this not been understood?

• Considering my life in 1999, which can be summed up by this photo:

 is this a combination (or vocation) worth revisiting again, or is best through the fog of nostalgia?

• Do I sell the ice cream truck, or let it sit there for another year?

• When it comes to serving lunch for others or just myself, remain steadfast in my choices, and ask the tough questions such as 

• If I go outside to work in the yard, will everyone continue to know that "it's best to leave him alone"?
• Will they ever catch on?

• And finally...wait...is it me or...that guy keeps looking at me.  See, he's still looking at me.  Do you know him?

I don't recognize him.  Yeah, I saw his hat, that rules, but...no, I don't get it.  I guess I need to wrap this up.  Let's go over there.

Afterglow

We've been hitting this "holiday festival" for 10 years now, but within that range there are multiple signposts measuring time beyond years.  It wouldn't have been odd 10 years ago if The Big Scoop and I were sitting on the edge of a retaining wall eating chicken vromiko sandwiches.  This year, we sat amidst the other revelers and while I had been effusive in my praise for the meal, the Scoop was succinct and even more effective: "Man...street meat.  This is the best.  And you know what?  Mom can't have any.  She's just gonna do that thing where she touches every part of the sandwich, looks at it all over, takes wayyyy too big a bite, says 'huh', and gives it back."  I laughed because I've pointed out that very thing in the past, and that while the Scoop has a good memory for those kinds of things, it would be deadly accurate.  Unsurprisingly, I couldn't finish this massive meal, and when the Artist former known as Smiley returned and saw how happy we were, she'd changed her tune.  Might as well have some of mine; I'm done.  

Short of using the word "fondling" I can't think of another description as to what we saw when the sandwich was given to her, but there it was...all that was missing was a jeweler's eyepiece.  A giant bite taken.  And then, true as anything, the review was "Huh.  There's garlic on that.  Well, not my favorite."  And, also true as anything, I asked her favorite sandwich so that we could dine there this weekend.  "Well...I don't know."  The 3 of us wandered off and, as usual, were broken up amongst the crowd.

In one booth, a man was selling 3-D printed figures.  He was wearing a Double Dare T-Shirt, and after a he and I had a brief chat about that game show, the Scoop looked over the wares.  "Did you see?  I told you!"  A block away, a Ferris wheel spun in a bank parking lot.  The screams heard were legitimate: each movement from the ground looked like a perilous adventure.  Next to the Ferris wheel were adults in Ghostbusters costumes.  When I tried to compliment them on the wardrobe, they flashed me a QR code so that we could help contribute to "their cause."  The cause being cosplay, I guess?  I demurred and hustled into a church where they hold an annual craft fair and bake sale.  These guys aren't going to chase me for money in there, will they?

Everyone selling items seemed bemused that people buy anything, which is curious considering the hand-crafted nature of it all.  I asked the Scoop which holiday item we should get next?  "We bought her Halloween decoration last year, the Christmas one the year before, and 2 turkeys for Thanksgiving the year before that.  What should it be?  American Flag?  That could be--"  She reached over me.  "An Easter Egg!  That looks so pretty!  Plus, Mom'll be--" and then made her vocal impression that's exaggerated but knows makes me laugh.  Like earlier, she arrived and the argument carried over...now over a $4 decoration.  I let them go at it while I (unknowingly) caught the eye of a lady in the church kitchen.  "Can we interest you in the chili dinner?" she smiled.  This meal consists of a bowl of chili and a hot dog (or a chili dog), a bag of chips, and a bottle of water for the low price of $9.  My memory saved me as I changed my expression to 'promising' and asked "does this chili have beans?"  It's the same chili every year.  Their chili has beans, and I prefer Texas chili without beans, so I'm saved again from the guilt...or maybe ending up like those who have eaten the dinner at the tables and seem unable to get up.  

Wandering back, I passed the car show and overheard Jay Leno's name dropped.  Is he here...somewhere?  Sadly, I don't have the time: the street aspect was soon to close up.  We ducked into one of Dealville's many pop culture stores where I held up the soundtrack to Battlestar Galactica on vinyl - the same that was curiously in the band storage room.  No reprints here.  I remember coming into this store long ago, and she picked out an Ernie doll from Sesame Street.  On this night, she said "maybe they have some Carrie White and Tommy Ross stuff."  I couldn't be prouder.

As the next holidays commence, I remain in a wavelength, parallel yet separate.  The Scoop keeps tilting toward mine.  It's not a competition, nor a demand, just a pleasant surprise.  Problem is, someone else doesn't like being on their wavelength alone.  Can't these waves come together?  Or is the length the problem? 

Everything You Did

At the restaurant I frequent so often that, when I walk in, I'm greeted by my usual drink order as my name ("Passion Fruit Iced Tea!")  I hadn't seen Will in months, but we picked up where we left off, even if the topic wasn't the same.

(As an aside, it really is a great feeling - decades ago I regularly frequented Ernie's Taco House even though I lived nowhere near there, and when I walked towards the bar area the bartender would say "there he is: Hollywood's Favorite Son!" - don't know how he came up with that one, but he began getting tips before a drop of liquor was served)

I was also at this restaurant to get takeout for The Big Scoop, due to how often the "there will be lunch provided" for her is pizza, each and every time.  He concurred, then took that point to parts unknown.  "Yeah, you know, pizza, in certain ways, I don't like what it represents.  Here's some shitty thing you gotta do, but hey, I'll get you a pizza."  The older one gets, as the Scoop is realizing, the more it isn't the generous gift that's being advertised.  

"Pizza, to me, is like coke.  I like it, but I hate buying it."  That's not a quote I was expecting to hear...ever, really, but I'm intrigued.  Please elaborate, won't you, sir?

He then enlightened me of he and his punk-loving friends, in the late 70s, facing down disco.  Some, it seems, accepted disco as a way to meet girls.  So went the balance between the 2 distinct styles.  "These guys, you know, they were making $100 a week working after school and blowing $70 on taking out girls to the disco and buying them drugs."  How long was it that "these guys" (hopefully not Will) realized the girls just wanted the drugs?  He laughed "It didn't take long.  But what were we going to do?  It was easier to get weed than beer.  All you could do is drive the back roads getting high then go to the donut shop." 

I had to interject.  "Wait, were there discos in this town?"  "Not really" he replied, just 'dance nights' at bars.  Ay yingo, what a conquest: needing to find daffy dust and a place playing disco music all to land some girls into both those things in a small town...yeah, I'd get the hell out of there, too.

The thought of his "wandering" stuck with me.  I couldn't help but notice how the circle was unbroken.  Here he was, decades later, retired and doing the same thing.  What is there to do, he wonders.  He walks the streets of Dealville, perhaps under some influence, but it matters not: looking for the party is a hell of a lot better than killing time.

It appears that the only obstacle in looking for fun (within the law, of course) is that the Nosy Nancy brigade insist on knowing what's going on and why, but they lack the effort to actually stand in your way.  "No reason.  I just want to know."  Well, Nance, that IS a reason, so I'm afraid you can't know.  Is that their version of being an obstacle?  Days later, of course, the Scoop will choose to share she ate the takeout spaghetti out of a container on the school steps.  When this statement causes a commotion, and the response is "no one cared", then it's hard to not to be worked up about that much, certainly not a previous day's lunch.  

I once ate a Blizzard while sitting on the hood of the Custom Cruisier in an abandoned Bloomington parking lot.  On another occasion, I ate a donut and drank a beer out of the trunk of the Saturn before I went bowling.  I didn't think anything of it then and hadn't since those exact occasions until the brain racking occurred in this very moment.  I'm sure there are others if I gave it more thought, but those moments, unique as they may sound out of context, are as inconsequential as the very one worried about that I wrote in the previous paragraph.  

Twenty years of Gold: a hope for tomorrow

When I recall the start of this blog, 20 years ago, I can remember where I was then...not just physically (obviously) but mentally as well.  My location physically may have been in a monitoring cell in Westwood by day, LA Nights, but mentally, for me, it was at a moment of forced change.  A force I created for good, and over 2 years, I was correct.  In that initial writing, I had hope for tomorrow with that occurring, and also for a space to let prose run free.  Prose ignited via spirits, chemicals, or the creativity that runs through us all.  Well, maybe a few of my friends.  Or, it appears, years later...just me.

What else stands out when recalling this time 20 years ago is not change (which is welcome) but the metamorphosis of people changing while their environment changes around them, a process that occurs simultaneously and, on even a yearly basis, many might not even notice it at all.   This change (a sliding scale of evolution and devolution) should be expected: two decades will do that.  How it has manifest itself in my surroundings over this time only stands out for this reason: if I told anyone, back when this blog began, that in 20 years they'd be mentally & physically where they are now, I wonder their reaction.  How many would embrace it, and how many others might look askew?  In the end, I suppose it doesn't really mean anything - today is today, and as I continue to bark, evolution and devolution, tilting in both directions.

The thing is, though...I like writing.  I don't know that I'm particularly good at it, but I like doing it.  Of late on this page, I've pulled back a bit if only because I've caught myself writing about some banal things without the needed flair to make it interesting.  Or, it's something interesting that I write (unknowingly) in such a matter of fact a way that it lacks the fervor that exists in my mind.  Maybe I need to let that one sit a while, I think, and then I'm on to the next thing, the next experience, the next trip, so on.  

In the first weeks of this blog, I said the point of "all this" (specifically, my topic of writing) was "bite the bullet" which is an oft-used way of saying "deal with it", which isn't any kind of sage advice or stellar writing for that matter.  I also said we "Press on" which, again, is more of the same.  I later tried to live by "everything works if you let it" because often times you can get in your own way.  Doing that can make one impatient, and it can also make you, before you know it, quite lazy.  This laziness leads to excuses no one wants to hear.

As I continue the search, I can't say there'll be any point, but I can say something that is repeated...mostly because my offspring is very random and selective on what she chooses to remember:

You have to make your own good days.

Sure, you'll have shit to get through, but once you get through it, you don't have to let it hang around.  You don't have to let others' negativity inflect you.  Each day won't be solid gold, but many, MANY more will be just fine.  Make it good in your own way.  Stop and reflect on what's gone right - it might be more than you remember.  

Since I've taken this golden approach to heart, for real, I must admit it makes some uncomfortable because they're desperately trying to bring you down to their level.  It means you have to clear out a lot of dead weight around you, tied to you, fervently reaching out to drag you to the depths, all to consume you and move on, leaving your decomposed carcass along the side.    

Of the immediate and far off future, I can't say, but in looking over the historical signposts of 20 years, there's as much new now as there is the same.  Is it going good?  That's sensational - revel in it!  Is it going OK?  Maybe you can make it good.  Is it poor?  Shit?  Well, what the fuck are you gonna do about it?!  Make it happen.  It's the golden life and golden way of life.  Physically or mentally, your location can be there.

"I LIKE SUMMER"

I scanned the directions and found many, many misspelled words.  Perhaps there was something lost in translation: maybe it was where it suggested to exercise "cautoiin", I don't know.  However, there was a drawing of a shark wearing sunglasses that had the quote above.  We agreed.

Some days this summer, things align just so that the best kind of "camp" comes in full effect.  It's a high benefit of working from home, and while I enjoy having the Big Scoop around much more than a list of chores "because [I'm] home", I'm more than willing to accommodate whatever it takes to make it happen.

This camp is her favorite: as I begin to TCB, the Scoop sleeps, usually waking at 11AM.  What passes for "breakfast" may or may not be eaten as she starts the day with light video game enjoyment.  Later, a location for lunch is decided: nothing too expensive, but nothing too greasy, either.  Fortified, I return to work while she calls a friend to do who knows what.  Roughly mid-afternoon, we end up outside doing something: eating ice cream and delivering one-liners, a "2-square" game, or what happened last week, which was breaking out a gifted, knock-off slip 'n slide.

We had a manageable one until it was broken by a friend of hers, and if you too are wondering how one could "break" a slip 'n slide, well, it's yet another crime to be best left unsolved.  A couple weeks ago, one arrived in the mail.  We hadn't ordered anything, but the friend's parents took a break from talking about themselves to send this as an apology.  Wow, thanks.  You know, one of these days, we should check that out.

And so, we opened this import, and it keeps unfolding, and unfolding, until we realize this will now cover the length of the front yard.  Good lord!  Once set up, the Scoop tries a few times, which mostly entails running through the sprinklers and then a "slide" toward the end.  "We should do this together!" she says, and I grab my gear to join her.  As I stare down the straightaway, hearing an enforced countdown from the Scoop, my conscience kicks in and starts chanting "ACL, MCL.  ACL, MCL."  Huh.  Well, how the hell am I going to do this?   I end up trying to do some sort of half-assed baseball slide, certainly nothing graceful.  It "works" inasmuch that I slide.  Her response is enough to suggest more, so I try adding a roll after the slide.  I'm noticing that, despite it being the very yard I maintain, the ground is unforgiving.  Eventually I stop, and the Scoop goes through a handful of "last time" runs.  It isn't until we have turned off the water and are attempting to put everything away that the neighbors all come out.  They've all missed it and are stunned that I'd even dare try such a thing.  One, a son home from college, is too cool to acknowledge my prowess, of course, but the rest look on in envy.  Well yeah, how did you spend your workday?

Days later, my body continues to remind me every second of my age.  I felt like I'd ridden in the dryer after Nim Nam Gnam gave it a spin or 20.  Well yeah, you threw yourself to the ground over and over while your offspring laughed and cheered you on.  What else were you supposed to do?

Today, another tasty lunch followed by a walkthrough of one of the last Sears open.  It's closing again, and as we searched for items they didn't have, I lamented what could have been from this location while she reminded me that somewhere in Stranger Things people either go to Sears or come home from there; all of it a memory she never really had, but lives through vicariously either through me or fiction.  Either one works.  

Later this month, we'll be back at it again: not so much different for me work-wise, but the fun of these weekdays for the Scoop will be replaced by endless complaints of assholes at school, homework, and what "Mom's making me do" now.  I hear it.  Hell, I lived it myself.  But, for now, like the Scoop, I revel in the Summer in a way more tangible than I'd ever expected.

 

At the Movies

Going through all this "stuff" I saved (knowingly or otherwise) included the internal question: why did I save this?  I had to have figured I wanted to prove to someone that I attended the Minnesota / Bethune Cookman game, right?  Going through the desk, I found a scattershot pile: movie tickets.  I laughed as I dug them out, and while it clearly wasn't everything I saw, I almost wondered if they were saved for another reason: an alibi, really enjoying it, or...some other reason lost to time.  I wouldn't have put it past my father to not believe I went to the movies, that I was out doing who knows what, dare I go to my girlfriend's house, etc.

I didn't think I saved movie tickets out here, but I looked around...and to my surprise, in a folder with odds and ends, I found a few.  Again, why they were saved (come on, they aren't A-Team trading cards like I received in a birthday card) I have no idea.

I likely saved this one because I knew I'd seen some shit here, that's for sure.  I remember seeing Pulp Fiction twice the 1st week it was out: there was nothing like it.  One time I went I had to show I.D.  So many imitations came out in the following years, too.  Seeing that I got in for free, it would seem Mike made the deal for this screening.

I remember starting to turn down some of the "blockbusters" others wanted to see (they were seeing it because there was a giveaway cup at Taco Bell or something) and being more intrigued with Indie films of the 90s - truly a golden age.  Me and a gal pal went to see Welcome to the Dollhouse, an excellent black comedy, and not the kind of movie you can easily explain or expect a lot of people (there, then) to have heard of or want to see, so...

 

If you're gonna do The People vs. Larry Flynt and First Strike back-to-back, you should get the serious stuff out of the way first.  That way, you'll be woken up by Jackie Chan fight scenes the rest of the night.  We were just going for it on this day.  By the way, notice the price: not just an artifact from decades ago, if you bought the tickets during the matinee period, you paid matinee prices...even for night showings!  I don't know if this was a promotion, a screw-up, or what...

Remember when you'd see a movie twice (or more) in the theaters if you really liked it?  I remember thinking that there were likely jokes I'd missed, or jokes I wanted to memorize, so absolutely, I'll see Austin Powers again.

During one of the trippier scenes of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (I don't remember which one exactly), a screening that I viewed "enhanced", the power in the theater went out.  It went out long enough that everyone got their money back.  

 

The Indie & Studio-distributed Indie summer of '98 plowed through - that's The Opposite of Sex, Clockwatchers, Buffalo '66, and Slums of Beverly Hills.  

"You can't fire me - you don't know my NAME!"

"We're a couple, and we span time together.  We're a couple spanning time."

Dillon and I actually came up with a bit for Night by Night after the Slums of Beverly Hills screening, but we never ended up doing another episode.  I don't know how we would've done it but here's the crux: a guy going to different stores, could be food, music, anything.  He grabs a ton of stuff, then goes to the register.  Whatever the total is, the guy goes "Yeah, so...I want all these things, but I only have $12, so...I can see we're gonna have to work something out."  The cashier keeps pressing that the total is the total, if you can't afford it all buy less stuff, but the guy is oblivious: "I mean, $12 is a lot of money."  Manager comes over, the guy gets defensive "Hey, I'm not in a fight, I'm not making a scene.  I HAVE money, and I'm ready to give it to you.  All of it!  For this stuff!"

I don't know...WE thought it was funny.

With student prices readily accessible in Boston, seeing movies was often an experience when drinking needed a break.  In what I found here, there were a few things that I hadn't thought of since, well, since I saw it...then saw the ticket stub, and it all came back:

- I apparently saw Muppets From Space in the theater which I didn't remember until seeing the stub, then recalled I had met a girl at a party and somewhere in the night (whether it was the alcohol, us vibing, or a combo of the 2) we decided that the following day we'd see that movie.  At best, the film is OK...and honestly, the quality of the movie ended whatever was going to happen between the 2 of us.  We were sober when we went in the theater, and both like "well, so much for that.  Thanks!" when we left.  So it goes.

- It's a long story, but I saw Mystery, Alaska in a theater in Biddeford, Maine.

- There were some blank tickets from a small theater where I didn't write down what I saw.  I remember one in Harvard Square had that set up.  Again, student prices, a good way to kill a rainy day.  Why save a blank ticket?  Hell, maybe it was from a comedy show...who knows?  

A folder with initial odds and ends from out here had a few saved as well.  Sometimes it was just seeing something because I knew a theater would be torn down, just to check it out.  Or things like this:

It took a long time for me to figure this one out: The Strange Case of Senor Computer.  I freely admit this was judging a movie by its title.  Back then, even low budget stuff would play in a theater for a week...Senor Computer might have just had a couple of days at the Egyptian.

Finally, once finding this one, I was surprised to see I saved it until I saw the date:

I didn't know much going into Wet Hot American Summer beyond that it was people from The State that were in it, along with David Hyde Pierce, which seemed strange to me.  I just remember laughing non-stop, my girlfriend not getting it at all, and me thinking "if she didn't think ANYTHING in this movie was funny, we gotta break up."  Ten days later, the world had changed, and my thoughts were on other matters.

So many things saved, though as I said at the top, I never stopped to ask myself why...maybe because I didn't have much to begin with?  At some point after this, I came to the conclusion tickets did not need to be saved after each film, but I'd already saved these, so...might as well save them for decades?!

While in MN, The Big Scoop happened upon a massive goblet filled with matchbooks.  "What is this?" she asked.  Another something I'd forgotten: "Oh yeah...this is back when restaurants had a smoking section.  Anytime my parents would go out to eat, anywhere they'd be, they'd get a matchbook and put it in there."  "Huh." was the reply.  "Yeah." was mine.  I really hope my Ma hasn't bought matches for any reason over the past 30 years but...does she know it's there?  Maybe this is all hereditary?  Eh...gotta take out the trash again.