So there I was, trying to lounge in the back of a police car. I finally understood why people go so irrate when they get pushed into or hauled out of one: the backseats aren't designed for the human arse. I felt calm, casual, like I was hosting a cocktail party; the officer in front didn't feel quite the same�

This odd situation developed out of Tapiocca. I was casually enjoying Mom's latest anecdote about what Gran did that was enraging/idiotic/both, swapping in a few of mine that mixed with the blobs of root-pearl white noise happily lapping at my tongue. Mom casually suggested that if I was feeling weird in the house, I could go out and spend the night at her boyfriend Scott�s place. At first I wasn�t so sure, but the idea grew on me like mutant moss in the span of a few minutes: I needed a vacation from my vacation.

We rushed home and got loose ends snipped and trimmed. I got the latest from the Ultima: Redemption leader, which was basically that he�d lost my last two emails. I wrote out which areas of the game world Britannia that I�d initially work on, asked him for more input on dialogue concepts and then beat holy hell out of there before Gran got home. She has this uncanny ability to come home early at awkward times.

So we finally left after I snapped a few day time golden autumn leaf shots; I couldn�t resist. The whole way there I tried to prove myself I could take photographs from a moving car. I was not a National Geographic photographer and these weren�t gazelles, so the trees and most other things didn�t move as fast as my camera liked. But finally, after learning more about mom�s sex life than I wanted to know, we arrived at the palatial woodland mansions of Palos Verdes. We dodged around obese children lifted onto huge horses, Buicks, higher end Mercedes, me all the meanwhile practically tugging on mom�s shirt to let me out and take pictures of griffins with stupid hats on and fountains. All of it came out bad.

The house Scott inherited from his recently dead father was small, non-descript�but then I found out it was much bigger outside. The main office/computer lounge was laquered with ducks on one side of the wall; old school office mascots, keeping aging white men company as they re-read The Prince and Nietzche on Friday nights for some edifying crescendo to life. The whole place had this old people/moth ball feel intermixed with some new popcorn/fresh newspaper/eau de� open window.

And ahh�and the view. Ventura country stretched out before me like a scintillating dragon�s horde, blue copper spheres and waves of gold threads on spindles of lamp post filaments. The shrub brush hills were faint, carved like a woman underneath the lavender and off-blue night sky. There were thin horse trails, too, well-beat like a fine faint limestone and dirt powder dusted along the hills.

Mom then uncovered the catacombs, a series of tunnels underneath and around the very bedrock of the house itself. A few decent shots, nothing spectacular. Eventually we went out to dinner at the Seafood Broiler, where I became very tipsy over two drinks with excessive amounts of light and dark rum. The whole restaurant was a converted Victorian railway station, back when Los Angeles rail didn�t mean millions of dollars tilling silt and trying to make it stand still long enough to get a damned tunnel to go through it. After that was the Best Buy fiasco. Short summary: Scott ordered computer, Scott came to check on computer, transaction allegedly never occurred, he argues, we shop, he argues, I take down some notes and joke with mom, he argues, mom lends more support and my arse makes love to the floor in one thudding jolt of ecstacy. After awhile Scott resolved things by making an appointment to deal with the regional manager. Hopping back into his overly luxurious rental Buick we scooted up the winding hills and I attempted to read Two Towers. Now for about the last week or two every time I try to do read that book, I inevitably get tired after two pages; it�s like eating carrot cake or a really rich delectable fruit that induces narcolepsy.

After 2 hours of fitful napping I got up and decided, �hey, I�m awake, let�s go photograph this hill to death.� So I�m going around with a flashlight, trying to see what sorts of shots I can get. This is a pitch black, dark, dark street, the occasional light here or there exposing lush vegetation and planting to fluorescent ministrations. Yup, there I was: black jeans, dark shirt, black trenchcoat, oblivious, happily oblivious�that was until a sheriff�s jeep pulled up, flashing a huge white blub into my eyes. He was in his mid 40�s, kind face for a seargent, searched me with precision but not malice; I appreciate cops who don�t throw you around. After 4 minutes I was amazed to see one, two�four more cop cars pull up. I was alone, I was unarmed, I had no record: what the hell?

So here I was back in the anti-arse backseat, climbing up the hill, trying to point out Scott�s place for indentification. Out mom comes, just by pure coincidence, to get a book. One officer gets out and says, �He yours?� She nods, says �Yeah.� I looked over to the Seargent surrounded by 6 other cops, security and sheriff people and offered to shake his hand. Hell, I�d really scared some people by taking photos, as if I was doing recon for a heist, and I�d disturbed the peace. This guy didn�t make me erase my photo bank�why? Because he knew that when I said 2.5 megapixel camera couldn�t pick up anything BUT lamps at night, he knew I was telling the truth. At first he was a tad reluctant, but finally that �Aw hell, he�s just a na�ve kid� thought to mind and he shook back. I felt good about that.

So up I traipsed, waving and smiling, awkwardly saying �hey Mom!� She just smiled, looked at me and said �You!,� as if I were the cat-in-the-cream. Now at first I thought the cops there would bitch about me for days�but y�know, Mom mentioned later they stayed out in front of that house for awhile. Their walkie-talkies blarred, but they stood, talked, arms at the sides. In my mind I�d like to believe they went out for coffee and donuts�or even then just caught up on old times or gossip or something. Maybe in some weird way, I brought a decent section of the Palos Verdes division together for a good chat.

I�m constructive in the strangest ways�and I took two days to write this. Off to sleep and then do more constructive things with the counseling/mentor/advisor status I've suddenly, and by bizarre circumstances, fulfilled again. Yikes I�m delerious.

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