It was barely after noon and I had just roused myself from having an odd dream experience. I was actually able to control my dreaming this time and did many very odd things involving cutlery, plant life, and people; the details are trivial and weird even by my standards.

My grandmother suggested that we go out to some place different, possibly along the beach, to go out and grab something to eat. Not being accustomed to Gram saying such things, I was momentarily confused and started moving through the digital routine of bygone days.

And then it struck me: we're not only going out, we're going out to the coastline. The coastline!! Woohoo!

I was born and raised near the coast in southern California, but I've never been able to go out there as much as I want when I come back here. Aside from Topanga Canyon, which I detailed earlier, California coastline is majestic in its real estate and beaches.

Hard to describe if you haven't been there. I'll see if I can kick myself hard enough to try later on.

So we stopped by some restaurant on the way there and had food. The food itself was good, but the conversations themselves were amazing. Ever since I climbed out of the impact crater that was adolesence, her and I have gotten along very well.

Being an adult is strange for many reasons, but I think the most prominent is the fact that you find out your parents are human-beings. At first this floored me. I used to think they were these incredible megolithic figures that could smack trouble upside the head like noone's business. I suppose that's why my type is strong and individualistic.

Today was even more suprising for the fact that I always learn something new from her. My mom is a wonderful person, don't get me wrong, but the woman is out and gone fishin' sometimes; disturb her from catching some seabass of an epiphany and you're liable to regret it.

Bunch of different topics: men, women, generational differences, why youth seem to be so emotionally unstable and unreliable for the most part. Quite fascinating, actually.

Ahh, and then the drive. We went through Malibu Canyon instead of Topanga, going along a route that I hadn't been through in years.

Imagine winding along a two-lane road upraised to about...600 feet above sea level, but all around you are hills of varying angles, sizes, and floral textures. The road moves along the curves of hills sometimes, flattening out to be caught in some hilled valley like a mouse in the eye of an eagle.

And then the mountains came. Well, we came to the mountains, both of us spinning at tens of thousands of miles per hour. We were just breaking 70 mph in the G3, though.

Sage brush, low lying shrubs, the occasional huge gnarled oak, some youngins attempting to imitate the old codgers. The landscape was a textureless, rolling expanse of auburn and dead brown foliage, with enough green to convince you that perhaps summer was being kinder than in yesteryears.

Along the back hills, and up nearer to the road as we reached the coast, were very posh homes scattered about like cat hair unleashed from a good stroking. There some adobe, there some continental, there a free-standing geodesic dome complete with square doors. The gardens were lovely, with patches of flowers and bushes of all varieties enlivining the posh edifices near which they chilled.

Malibu is a fairly long strip of coastline, encompassing alot more than most people think. Beyond it up to the north is Zuma beach, an almost as well known clump of beaches, beach-side property, and hill-seized quasi beach-side property. I figure if your parkway (driveway) is longer than 100 ft and bends more than three times, you fit into the quasi category.

The coast was very hazy today, enshrouding the distant, high peaked mountains with a thick veil of mist. Looking up to them I was reminded of the Highlands and men dressed in breathably cost-effective Tartans. I could see them now, fading in to the misty outreaches as they give a rousing whoop, snickering at being paid extra because the cameraman chose the wrong film and narrow-angled lens again.

So we cruised along malibu, zuma, up aways further, back through malibu, stretching to Santa Monica (south of Malibu), and back again. Ice cream was had from a flustered staff at Ben and Jerry's. Maybe they thought I was a movie extra gone horribly astray off the beaten path. Maybe I did belong up on that mountain getting paid to snicker at the cameraman. I'll never know.

We drove back, agreed to visit some ecclectic three story restaurant in the middle of nowhere, and subsequently remembered my mom's birthday is tomorrow.

Today was a good day, filled with pleasant discoveries and visuals. With that, I whoop at you adieu.

"The Scots have their whiskey,

The Welsh have their speech,

Their poets are paid about 10 pence a week,

Provided of no hard word of England they speak,

Oh Lord, what a price for an ocean."

-part of old Irish drinking song

previous - next