2003-02-03 12:03 p.m.
So last weekend Andie and I flew to LA. Before we even left we had our entire weekend all planned out. First we would meet with Glenn Campbell and Jessica. Then Saturday we would hang out with Tim Walker at Theory Labs. Saturday night was Holly's book–signing party at Abundant Sugar. And then Sunday we would float around LA and spend some more time with friends.
And the weekend unfolded just like that.
Friday night we flew Southwest Airlines from San Jose to LAX. I don't particularly like Southwest, so I came up with a new slogan for them.Southwest Airlines: Cockroaches of the Sky.
I guess the flight wasn't so bad. It sure beat driving, since we found ourselves in LA less than an hour later. The most memorable part of the flight was the part where Andie ate one of her pieces of carry–on luggage: a Cinnabon the size of a human baby. Needless to say, she got to fly the upset stomach skies.
After 50 minuets, we walked out of the climate–controlled flying cockroach taxi, through the airport, and out into the decadently warm air of Los Angeles. Everything smelled like vacation.
Glenn Campbell and Jessica rolled up in the dark Mercedes and whisked us off to Hollywood to Jessica's apartment. After we arrived, she explained how she started renting it back when apartments were affordable. Nowadays you couldn't even timeshare a urine–soaked cardboard box under a bridge for the money she pays.
The evening was simple and low–key, intimate and real. We stayed up late, had intense talks, and got weird. I got to know them all better; they got to know me better. Substantial time with substantial people.
Somehow morning rolled around. And, after some less–than–adequate amount of sleep, crow–barred open our eyes and joined the world of the living. Glenn Campbell had already left. Jessica shuttled us in her car to Theory Labs.
We spent a little time hanging around the Labs with Tim Walker, and then he brought us to the Museum of Jurassic Technology. A very Los Angeles scene was going down right in front of the museum when we arrived. About eight police cars lined the street, and a disproportionate amount of cops stood around while some Mexican teenagers stood with their hands on their heads. Cars inched by, as drivers craned their heads to see what it looks like when 20 cops arrest five Mexican teenagers for graffiti.
The Museum of Jurassic Technology is a strange place. An almost imperceptible scent of sarcasm hangs in the air. And what sort of museum is this, anyway? Is it a museum full of fake things that are all based on the truth? Or is it a real museum full of real things made to look fake?
I can't do justice to the museum—it's a trip. You have to see it to understand. And even then you probably won't understand. But one thing was for sure, The Museum of Jurassic Technology sure made me hungry.
So Andie, Tim, Gallagher and I jetted off to sushi in Little Tokyo. Most memorable aspects of the meal: the restaurant smelled fishier than any other sushi place I have ever been, someone at a nearby table spilled about 500 toothpicks on the floor, and I ate broiled smelt—funny cigarillo shaped fish which are eaten head, tail, fins and all.
I took a nap when we got back to Theory Labs. I had been feeling sick for over a week—juggling between a sore throat, upset stomach, and diarrhea that felt like shooting burning salsa and fiberglass out through the sore, tenderized, and distended meat–fire–hose that was once my anus. I definitely needed to rest if I was going to be up late for a Burning Man style party.
Taking a nap before a party is a delicate gamble. You might wake up feeling refreshed and ready to nonstop rock. Or, you might pull a Rip Van Winkle and sleep right through the very event you were trying to rest up for. I did something in between. I only slept through part of the event.
The next day we laid low, as all of us were feeling sub–par. We ate brunch at a French place with sidewalk seating in Los Feliz. We went for a walk in the fantastic LA sun—it was January but it sure felt like summer to me. We couldn't walk for long, though. Andie got really sick and almost passed out.
So we sat and rested on the shady sidewalk behind a store called Wacko. We weren't the only ones with this bright idea. I looked to my left to see we were sitting fifteen feet from some homeless guy and his shopping cart.
Mr. Homeless Guy got me to thinking. As much as we scoff at them for how they mutter under their breath and smell like their pants are washed exclusively with excrement and offal, there's one thing for sure. They have good taste in locations. Think about it: homeless guys always pick the best places to hang out—parks, the best piece of sidewalk, the coolest beaches, etc.
We eventually made it back to the Labs. Safe and sound, safe and sound. Andie went to the bed and took a nap; I went to the roof and took a picture of the sunset.
The next day was really chill. I think the highlight was when Tim had a contest to see who would win in a fight: Jesus or Vince McMahon. The test was which action figure was strong enough to hold the other one over it's head. Needless to say, Jesus didn't do so hot. Passive resistance and love doesn't make you buff.
In the end, Andie and I had to say goodbye to Tim and Jesus and Vince and the Theory Labs. Emmett and Beth picked us up and took us to our farewell LA dinner. The restaurant was called El Cholo. I snickered. The food was good, but it was hard to taste it over the screaming of the "super" bowl fans. Not wanting to be rude and stick out like sore thumbs or educated artists, Emmett and I screamed out "SPORTS!" whenever the sporty people screamed.
Finally it was time to say goodbye, so we went to the airport where we proceeded to get bumped off our flight. So, we stayed in a hotel and came back the next morning. And, for another night of vacation, Southwest gave us each the cost of our tickets, plus $200, plus a free ticket home, plus a free stay in a fancy hotel.
I need to do this every weekend.
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