In other words, I've been watching even more C-SPAN and C-SPAN 2 than usual. So far I've gotten up-to-date on stem cell research, the almost unstoppable collapse of social security, genocide in Sudan, tax code reform, and lots of other sticky wickets that I love listening about but, in all likelihood, would bore the shit out of you.

Politics is a drug that way: in the end there's no point in doing it, but it feels great at the time. Nothing can curb the herb.

That aside, I've been sifting through/reorganizing the slag pit around where I happen to sleep. I've come to an epiphany:

I own alot of shit

No kidding. Every book from college, every set of notes from college, research articles, clothes in random places, cards, photographs, it's all there like a cold gumbo. My favorite find, though, has gotta be the wet pairs of jeans and boxers inside of this old trashbag.

This sounds innocent enough. It isn't. Let me explain.

I moved into Scott's house--this house--a year and a half ago. I brought two trashbags with me, ones filled with wet clothes. Many months ago, I washed the clothes in one of the trashbags. So, what happened to the other trashbag?

Yes. Exactly.

When I opened the bag today, it smelled like a peat bog. There was this swampy dirt covering the denim, with colonies of mold and fungus criss-crossing like city suburbs. Here a white furry capital building, there an off-green growth of thin subway lines.

Ok ok, enough about the cardboard pants and Fungopolis.

Most of the room is looking decent. I still haven't found my cell-phone, but I've got some high hopes for underneath the chairs--which are my clean and dirty clothes pile chairs--or some random place that seemed to be a really good spot at the time.

On a less slag pit related note, I went back around where the Sacred Grounds coffee house is. About 3/4 of the way there, actually, up along this hill that leads to a dog walking park. It's kinda curious, actually: they have these double-fenced enclosures where dogs can run around and bark and poop and stuff. I think that's why alot of Mexicans down the street were looking at me funny: I'd parked, but I didn't have a dog.

I had a whole other purpose, my camera and I. See, I was hoping that hill would overlook part of the LA harbor. And I was right, it does: the first bridge that leads to Long Beach, the huge docking areas, some of the long-term storage sites. It was dull in the day time, but I could see the potential of it at night. And funny enough, there weren't any parking signs around, just these 'no trespassing, city ordinance blah blah blah' deals. Assuming they don't mean the public street, though, I think I might finally get some decent shots of LA Harbor.

Part of me is tempted to go right now, but I have pleasant binary company and I am kinda fond of this chair.

----

So tomorrow and the day after that are family affair deals. We're driving up who knows when today to stay at a motel, chill, sleep, and then wake up for a magical funeral at 10am. Great Granny, we knew thee well, with your mostly pink bedroom and the heart-felt 'god blesses' you would give every other sentence. Most of our relatives are (or were, in your case) selfishly callous bastards, but you really cared--and that was cool.

Now the part I'm wondering about is this: after the funeral early friday, should I randomly drive 5 hours to Las Vegas to party with someone I've never met? I should call Tiff and ask. I'd meant to today, actually--being all sorts of unbelievably convenient--but I'll just have to try way later today.

I mean for fuck's sake: if you can't drive out to the desert, get high, wasted on alcohol, and quite possibly fuck random people, what is youth about?

Life is not C-SPAN and cardboard pants.

----

Oh, and The Captain wants to do some photo-shoot type things and see 'I, Robot', which I'm kinda sorta in the mood for. I'm actually gunning for 'Anchorman'..so I might end up seeing that with GE if he's into inane comedy stuff.

----

I still need to slap a border on those flower shots and post them, along with a few others I've been working on.

And with that, I leave you with this.

Worship the pissed off squirrel.

So, remember the hill that I wanted to visit at night, so that I could get night shots of the LA harbor? Well, somewhere around 2am, I decided then was a good time to go out and try it.

The spot only being 18 minutes away, I was there in no time--and I was right: the LA harbor looked like an expansive, scintillating chest of flourescent jewels and nightline rouge. I made sure to stay on the street itself while I tried this angle or that, since all the 'no trespass' signs gave me the feeling that one step on the grassy sections = misdemeanor.

I kinda wasn't surprised when two cops pulled in behind me; this happens alot to you as a photographer, and you gotta have a humble sense of humor about it all.

And so I turned off my camera, casually making sure I had nothing in my hands as the mega-watt white cop lamp burst in my face. That turned away to reveal one guy in his late 20's, with a more seasoned gentleman coming from the other car.

"Hi Sir, we're the port police," he said in a jovial tone, "Y'know why we're here, right?"

"Because taking pictures of infrastructure is supicious?" I replied with a casual smile.

He nodded his head, said "Bingo!" and did a little dance. A cop did a little dance for me. The guy kicked ass. He went on to ask me--in that same joking tone--if I was a terrorist. And of course I said no. He smiled and ragged about how I had a beard and all. Then the guy turned to his back-up and started talking about how they'd just covered this in class awhile back, and how--apparently--some college professor had wanted his students to photograph the bridge I was taking shots of. I mentioned I was an amateur photographer and was basically a student.

Naturally--with the borne grace of having done this a few dozen times--I slide out my driver's license for his perusal. He didn't check arrest records or the like, so I assume he didn't consider me a threat. He'd mentioned at a few points that I technically wasn't breaking any laws (woohoo for me not being on the 'no trespass' grass), but that even if it looked like I was taking a photograph of the bridge or harbor, it had to be checked out. His partner added that the whole 3am photo-shoot thing would be construed as supicious. I couldn't disagree. Hell, these guys were being quite civil with me. The more seasoned guy did mention a few times that I wasn't supposed to be taking photos of industry or infrastructure, but the younger cop reiterated that it technically wasn't illegal. He even did another little dance when he said it a second time.

And with that, they were gone; they left me feeling genuinely happy for some odd reason. So I finished up, rolled down the hill, and headed back across Gailey to PV Drive N. and to home. Only thing is, I wanted to compose and shoot the 4 different shots I'd scoped out over on Kinross St. Most of them--an Americana late-night garage with weird lighting and a huge tree with yards of exposed roots--needed to be done at night.

In the end, since apparently we're having lunch with Gran at noon today, I decided to drop by Jack in the Box and just get a medium strawberry-banana shake. I rode around for a little while after that, enjoying the musty crisp scent of eucalyptus and berries on the air.

It's the little LA moments like that that I'll miss. Living rent-free is up there too.

So, on to sleep, then brunch, hopefully calling Tiff to confirm plans for booze and blunts (and booty?) in Vegas, then hotel staying, more sleep, my first funeral for a pile of ashes and old people with money, and then...who knows.

But hey, a cop did two little dances. My week is already made.

previous - next