I'm a Star Now: L.A.

So my travels began on an uneven keel: after a few days of getting nervous and packing I finally found myself receiving a teary goodbye from Mom and Dave at O'hare. After checking my bag, trudging through security, and getting full body scanned all up in my bidness, I arrived at the gate. At which point I waited through ten hours of delay after delay. Mechanical issues, flight crew changes, etc, etc. Totally screwed. I was supposed to arrive at LAX at 1pm. Didn't get there until 9:30pm.
Oh and LAX? That place is totally screwed too. One of the most poorly arranged and nasty airports I've been to. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel: Tessa and Chris picking me up. Total Blast off. They whisked me away to the lovely La Casa de Bernardo...their lovely abode in which Chubbs holds throne. The place is like Alice in LaLaLand. On acid. With Palm Trees.
The palm trees? The immutable blue skies? The inablity to get anywhere without driving for hours in a car? What can I say, L.A. is a messed up place, man. For the sake of me actually covering all of the things I'd like to cover in this Travel Blog thing I'm just going to give an In-the-Blastshell sorta synopsis of my West Coast massivity fame inducing jonestowned out adventures of California.
The weekend was a non stop journey of epic proportions...I began Friday with a walk around Culver City. The Museum of Jurassic Technology was a highlight of this tour. Probably the best museum experience I've ever gone through. I felt like I was stuck in pinhole camera circa the 19th century for three hours. My personal favorite was the exhibits of the American Trailer Park, complete with miniature trailer park diarama scenes. In a word: Delightful.
Upon returning with a 12er of PBRs, I began the Friday-Night-in-America. Drinks at the Casa turned into a journey into the depths of Hollywood for a Couchsurfer event at a Night Club. We were able to grab one free vodka drink and ogle models in scantily clad, pink outfits. One of which had such a massive boob job on such a tiny frame she looked like was about to topple forward without the ability to right herself. My bafflement of my fellow males tastes in figures continues to grow...we left the club to go to an Irish Karaoke Bar after walking around the Hollywood stars for a bit. I decided Kevin Costner was the only star I wanted a picture with; the rest, as they say, are off dancing with the wolves. After karaoke there was massive drinking, Wild Turkey 101 style at the Casa, the pool was assaulted with drunken bodies.
Saturday began with two gourmet pizzas and "No Impact Man." A documentary about a family trying to make no impact on the environment. We thought it fitting to eat our pizza with paper plates and napkins just to be safe. Then off to Runyan Canyon! Sprawling views of none other than sprawl. I don't get Los Angeles. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to its clumps of "downtowns" and urban development. Theres the oceans, then the mountains, then just miles of four lane highways everywhere. The canyon is wonderful though. We sweat the whiskey out while climbing up steep embankments. Later that night we went to a blues bar of some kind? I was drunk already so I danced my little tiny boy socks off without any accompaniment on the floor and was awarded a free CD from the band. Then off to the Casa again for some more massivity.
Sunday we went to Venice Beach to go swimming and boogie boarding, once this was complete we got some Mexican (of which I already miss, I'm in New Zealand as I write this). Chris and I decided on the 12 dollar margaritas. A good choice, though I wish we could have gone through with our dream of drinking six of them. Exhaustion was the prevailing mood after this meal. The weekend was over. Another debaucherous saga under our belts.
The week following was much more low key as Tessa and Chris were at work most of the day. So I sat around their apartment listening to vinyl, raiding the fridge, surfing the infernet, and reading "Under the Dome." On Tuesday Ray flew in from Korea after spending his second year teaching english there. He finishes an adventure and I begin one. We played some poker at Dave's place that night, whiskey in tow. On Wednesday Ray, Dave, and I walked through the Venice Beach Canals, which were quite beautiful. We also walked along Venice Beach so we could be harangued by the weed smokers there who claimed we weren't cool for not buying weed from them. We were also harrassed by about four hundred "hip hop artists" urging us to buy their "CD's." One of the nights Tessa and I went shopping for journals and pretzel bites at the Howard Hughes Center (that crazy old bastard). On my last night Tessa and I also went to see Get Low at this crazy theatre where all of the seat are these huge leather couches! Pure opulence, West Coast style. I knew at that point I had achieved true fame.
On Thursday, September 2nd, I started becoming extremely nervous...as a pending 11 hour flight over the Pacific Ocean complete with a cross over the Date Line can be somewhat nerve wracking...I had lunch with Dave at Tokyo 77, a hybrid Japanese/American Diner, had one last swim in the Casa pool...and awaited my ride to the airport around 9pm. I was packed after slamming a burrito and sending some postcards. Said my goodbyes, Chris gave me a ride to the airport...fairwell to the States!

Fiji coming soon...

Nomadic Epilogue

I'm going to begin this account of travel with a quote from Paul Auster:

"[The World] was inexhaustible space, a labyrinth of endless steps, and no matter how far he walked, no matter how well he came to know its neighborhoods and streets, it always left him with the feeling of being lost. Lost, not only in the city, but within himself as well. Each time he took a walk, he felt as though he were leaving himself behind, and giving himself up to the movement of the streets, by reducing himself to a seeing eye, he was able to escape the obligation to think, and this, more than anything else, brought him a measure of peace, a salutary emptiness within. The world was outside of him, around him, before him, and the speed with which it kept changing made it impossible for him to dwell on any one thing for very long. Motion was of the essence, the act of putting one foot in front of the other and allowing himself to follow the drift of his own body. By wandering aimlessly, all places became equal, and it no longer mattered where he was. On his best walks, he was able to feel that he was nowhere."

And so, we'll begin with the hopes of losing oneself and possibly coming out the better for it.