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Vacation: Part 1 of ?

2007-01-06 - 4:27 p.m.

It's a languid saturday on a stretch of road, not far from the lakeshore or the evening. Seems like a good a place as any to remember with key tapping.

Pre Wedding Rehearsal Vacation (12/16 to 12/28)

My flights to California were continuously delayed. In Madville I'd been sitting back in a completely empty lower gate section, writing for the project and occassionally viddying the clock. My departure time left just as crew members arrived. A gregarious twig of a man told everyone we'd all get to where we needed to go, you could count on it. I was called "guy" several times. Eventually we boarded and headed to that delay mecca: Chicago. If you've never travelled through O'Hare during December, don't. See, we'd had the fortune of getting the sharp end of a new set of regulations about fog cover and X number of planes being able to take off.

So I sat around and continued on what would become a 30 page single-spaced 'extended' outline for the main plot. Everyone would approve of that document forged in boredom and against vinyl seating.

The first flight was fine. Second flight three hours after the original departure time was fine.

I didn't know what to expect when I saw my mom. It'd been near 3 years and I'd had to stow most of my humanity by the wayside, keeping it protected while I stayed on a perpetual busy streak. I occasionally took it out for walkies during parties or with cute women, but I'd changed since I left California. Would she notice? Would I still seem who I was? How would I react to the home situation?

Mom looked much the same she always has; past a certain age in our family, you just look the same 'til you die. So as we commented on how we age well and live a long time, everything just clicked back into place: the city, my old memories, emotions, like I'd slid a set of glasses on my nose and stopped breathing gin. We surveyed the sights from the freeways as I remarked about how cool being in a real city was.

The old neighborhoods around WH hadn't changed much. Krispy Kreme had apparently tanked, though, which might've been for the best. Del Taco was still in the same place, and I greedily ate my favored chicken tacos del carbon. And I had soda. Check that out, yeah.

The house'd definetely changed for the better. Where once we had dehydrated moss and weeds and a whole batch of chimeric plant stuff, there was just lawn in the front yard. It was unfathomable! I had to walk on it just to make sure it was there. The old rosemary bush was still there, though, thankfully. And the giant grouting table at the end of the driveway, complete with unused firewood in back of it. The interior itself was done up in a tropical theme. Gone was the giant half broken crystal chandelier (courtesy of Northridge). Gone was all sorts of knacky-knicks, and in their place were brushstrokes of mahogany and green and earthtones a-plenty. I'd thought staying in my old room would bring about a major nostalgia trip, but the thing looked so different (and my bed was positioned differently) such that it never registered that I'd spent 8 years in the thing.

Czarina, mom's old cat who somehow became gran's newer but old cat, had snuffed it while I'd been gone. Being that she was a morbidly obese persian most of her life, none of us were surprised it came early.

But there was one new beast in the equation of the household. His name is Zephyr and he's a Tonkinese. A very, very vocal, opinionated, bitchy but gorgeous and occasionally sweet Tonkinese. Mom had got him shortly after Scott died and screwed her over by not signing his will. Zeph has high maintenance cat written all over him. True, he's a pedigree purebred. He never especially warmed up to me, but Mom says I apparently came the closest to another human he could tolerate besides her. We had plenty of laughs making fun of him when he got mrowly or overdramatic.

So what did I do with my time off, you ask? Run around the city and photograph like the old days? Catch up with high school friends that, with one exception, I have no contact info for? Stop by the Game Zone and attempt to find Kris P., Meghan, and other people who'd likely moved on ages ago?

No.

Most days consisted of the following:

*Get up
*Shower
*Brush teeth
*Say hi to Mom and Gran
*Begin 9-12pm TV viewing block Gran likes to adhere to, consisting of drinking cappuccino my Mom made, watching Food Network shows, home renovation shows, then BBC America.
*Eat breakfast out or in.
*Write for the project
*Occasionally watch more TV
*Occasionally write more for project
*Go out to eat or stay at home
*Write more for project or get online and muck about talking or surfing.
*Write more until 1:00am
*Wake up...

There'd be some variations like going to our chiropractor, but this was the plan up until the wedding rehearsal.

And I loved it. I didn't want to do a damn thing except relax and be around family. I felt human again. I forgot about work for the most part and, when it did come up, I didn't give a damn about it. That shit could burn for all I cared. For awhile I lived the way that I think most people lived. That is to say I stopped being a student and started being me again. It was wonderful.

I was happy. Really, genuinely happy.

Christmas came and went without much to-do. I got some biofeedback relaxation software that my Mom highly recommended. There was also a fashionable ale stein, and she'd help pay for some shirts and things while I was there. We'd picked up a black dress shirt and brown hoodie for Gran. I hadn't gotten anything for Ma, but just to keep up appearances she gave me some gifts to wrap for her and present in front of Gran. Later on I downloaded several albums I thought she'd like onto her laptop, among some other things I can't remember. Seemed like a good trade.

Wedding Rehearsal Day (Dec 27th)

Haha, ah yes, this day.

The rehearsal was at 3:30pm. I had yet to pick up the formal rental wear from the place in Studio City. From my place to Studio City was 21 minutes. Factor in 40 minutes for fitting. Studio City to the rehearsal location--"City Club", I was told--was 20 minutes.

I left at 1:30. I would realize later this was damned foolish. You see, LA traffic is a finicky thing. It could be in the clear straight to your destination, like Studio City.

I wipped across Ventura Blvd., whipped across traffic, parked in some business parking space, and rocketed into AH formalwear. The rep knew the wedding party I was a part of. He wondered how Carol was doing and asked if she was running us ragged. We exchanged 'that look' and a laugh, considering she'd been ultra-organized and vocal about whenever anything didn't fit with the current plan--a good thing for a wedding, though, true.

I tried everything on in a snap, swapping one pair of shoes for another while dashing in and out to grab a pair of socks, or this or that. There was a small child in a tux blocking my way most times. The gent who was his sire was, I'd later find out, some dude in Jerry McGuire and stuff. It's Studio City, it happens. Everything fit well, which was unexpected considering my alleged waist size. How the hell did I become a 27? I figured the things would be far too small, but some measurement or another must have taken into account my sizeable ass. That ass is what makes a 30 a necessity. In all this rushing I also completely fell in love with my waistcoat. I have plans now to buy and wear one almost all of the time, with a gold pocketwatch, like an architect from the 20's. So I got my clothes, paid for the shiz, paid for a tie because for whatever reason the requirement list didn't list one, dashed out, hopped into the car, and sped toward "City Club."

You'll find out why I use quotes in a sec.

Now, LA traffic is a finicky bitch. Sometimes you zip along and sometimes, somewhere near Rodeo Dr. and Melrose or wherever the fuck, you suddenly become a part of the area's biggest parking lot. I'd forgotten to take traffic into account. True, I had 30 minutes and only 8 miles to go, but this would be LAST MINUTE. Right around on time, 5 minutes late, I descended from the freeway, carved along some streets, and remarked that this area was a really bizarre one for Carol to schedule.

I was in a heavily run-down, heavily Latino, heavily urban section of downtown. What my Mom and some LA friends would call "Cholo ville." I didn't pay much attention as I hunted for the place. I sped down the road, realized I'd gone too far, went back, turned right toward a hotel structure, looped back around, then finally saw it. City Club Bar and Grill.

And out of exhaustion, I parked, put on my good shoes, wondered again why Carol would have a wedding rehearsal in a place like this, then went in.

At this point I should mention that I'd gotten an e-mail telling me to go to City Club. No address. No description. It was across from the Omni, a hotel. On mapquest, there was a "City Club" and then a "City Club on Bunker Hill." Me being a literalist when it came to directions, I decided she meant "City Club." There was a hotel across the way, after all!

And as I got out, a shaved-bald white man in formal wear (sans suit jacket), I weaved my way past pool tables and guys who must have looked at me like I was from Mars. Mexican oompah music quietly played in the background. I went outside again, re-entered through the front, and asked the Latino man behind the counter (with some incredulity in my voice) if there was a wedding party here.

At first he just blinked.

"No...no man, not here," he said, shaking his head slowly. Being more of an LA native than I was, though, he asked me where I was headed. I told him City Club. I think he smiled in that 'fuck if that don't beat all' way and told me there were two City Clubs:

This establishment, a bar in the heart of a poor Latino community.

And:

A really, really fancy well-to-do restaurant on top of the Wells Fargo building.

"...Oh," I said.

I went back to my car and called Daniel about this. He said I shouldn't worry about it, that if I could I should still try to make the dinner, and that--as I suggested--they'd go on without me and I'd just get caught up later.

I went back in then and asked to borrow a pen, then called Mom to get her to mapquest directions for me. My mother is not net savvy. I discovered that my cell phone was close to losing power and beeping at me. Add to this the fact that my Mom was easily as exasperated as I was about not receiving accurate directions. At around this time, the guy offered to call information and let me use the landline phone. I suggested this to Mom. She got quite pissed all the sudden when I said I'd just hang up and use the landline phone. Said guy kinda backed off because you could HEAR my mother just going off. She just didn't understand--and didn't like it when I had to ask her repeat directions because the pen I'd been given was out of ink. But I got down the directions, got an alternate set from Jose, bought two red bulls as a kind of tip for his help, shook his hand, looked him in the eyes, and thanked him as sincerely as I could--then got back in my car.

It'd be another hour and a half before I got to City Club.

There was getting lost in the bad area, getting gas, getting to the heart of downtown, getting more lost in downtown via one-way streets trying to find City Club, looping back around and thinking I was further lost, finding what I thought was the hotel parking structure, learning that I'd parked in the bank building NEXT to the hotel--and not giving a crap.

I was exhausted, my neck was out of place, but somehow I made it exactly right on time--for dinner.

I'll get to that next time.

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