The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting.
I want to drive along the coast.
South.
Start in Carmel, and drive, drive, drive.
Big Sur.
San Luis Obispo.
Santa Barbara.
(The surf break at Rincon. Perhaps the finest peeling right break I have ever seen. Like a metronome.)
Ventura.
Watch for the Topanga exit.
Malibu.
...
...
A quick stop in Hermosa Beach, just because.
Just to see if the magic is still there, in the South Bay.
I had my mojo working when I lived there, back in the day.
Unemployed, livin' with Romano, shooting 500 jumpers a day, playing Sega, talking shit, playing volleyball and just kinda soaking it all in.
%%%
I'd have to stop and throw some dice in the LBC.
Just to mentally prepare to go behind the Orange Curtain.
The OC.
Here is my OC story:
When I was unemployed, living with Romano, shooting jumpers, we had another roommate.
His last name was Austin, so that was only a short trip to Steve Austin, The Six Million Dollar Man, or, as we ended up calling him, The Man Barely Alive.
He was from the OC.
Laguna.
One day, his buddy from Laguna was having a fiesta at his parents' house.
It was on a private cove, perched on a cliff above the beach.
Ab-so-fucking-lutely beautiful.
We played volleyball, grilled, partied.
Anyway, this house had a shared driveway.
There was another house, right next door.
Nice house, too.
We were standing around the kitchen island, drinking some beers, and I went to the frig.
There on the frig was a hand-written note, from Mom:
Jason-
Food is in the frig.
Remember to feed the cats.
And, don't block OJ's garage.
Yeah.
The Juice was his neighbor.
So, I see that note, and I am like WTF, mate?
We went and peeked in the garage window and there was OJ's fucking Ferarri with the personalized JUICE plates.
(While I was there, I tossed a bloody sock in his side yard.)
$$$
San Onofre, another perfect break.
&&&
San Diego, ahhhh, San Diego. The Whale's Vagina.
Then TJ.
Rosarito.
Ensenada.
Allllll the way down.
To Cabo.
That's the drive along the coast.
It'd take a month to do it real proper-like.
***
I went out tonight with a friend.
We hung out at this wine & tapas place. This is the place that has the cucumber concoction. It's "hip and trendy," at least for Bozeman.
You know what I am talking about.
People go there to see and be seen.
Brick walls, tasteful lighting.
Dudes in fitted shirts.
$ 15 two-bite appetizers.
Blackberries and Razr phones.
Complicated shoes.
A DJ spinning pretty cool mellow techno music.
Glasses frames that Make A Statement.
Edgy bangs.
Surreptitious glances.
Some cougars prowling around.
Overheard, "So, are you into boys or girls?"
I was driving, so I did a lot of observing the scene, such as it is.
Some crusty dude sitting on a bench on the street, septum ring, drinking an Olympia beer, telling vulgar jokes.
Vulgar, I tell you.
I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before.
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
In my life...
South.
Start in Carmel, and drive, drive, drive.
Big Sur.
San Luis Obispo.
Santa Barbara.
(The surf break at Rincon. Perhaps the finest peeling right break I have ever seen. Like a metronome.)
Ventura.
Watch for the Topanga exit.
Malibu.
...
...
A quick stop in Hermosa Beach, just because.
Just to see if the magic is still there, in the South Bay.
I had my mojo working when I lived there, back in the day.
Unemployed, livin' with Romano, shooting 500 jumpers a day, playing Sega, talking shit, playing volleyball and just kinda soaking it all in.
%%%
I'd have to stop and throw some dice in the LBC.
Just to mentally prepare to go behind the Orange Curtain.
The OC.
Here is my OC story:
When I was unemployed, living with Romano, shooting jumpers, we had another roommate.
His last name was Austin, so that was only a short trip to Steve Austin, The Six Million Dollar Man, or, as we ended up calling him, The Man Barely Alive.
He was from the OC.
Laguna.
One day, his buddy from Laguna was having a fiesta at his parents' house.
It was on a private cove, perched on a cliff above the beach.
Ab-so-fucking-lutely beautiful.
We played volleyball, grilled, partied.
Anyway, this house had a shared driveway.
There was another house, right next door.
Nice house, too.
We were standing around the kitchen island, drinking some beers, and I went to the frig.
There on the frig was a hand-written note, from Mom:
Jason-
Food is in the frig.
Remember to feed the cats.
And, don't block OJ's garage.
Yeah.
The Juice was his neighbor.
So, I see that note, and I am like WTF, mate?
We went and peeked in the garage window and there was OJ's fucking Ferarri with the personalized JUICE plates.
(While I was there, I tossed a bloody sock in his side yard.)
$$$
San Onofre, another perfect break.
&&&
San Diego, ahhhh, San Diego. The Whale's Vagina.
Then TJ.
Rosarito.
Ensenada.
Allllll the way down.
To Cabo.
That's the drive along the coast.
It'd take a month to do it real proper-like.
***
I went out tonight with a friend.
We hung out at this wine & tapas place. This is the place that has the cucumber concoction. It's "hip and trendy," at least for Bozeman.
You know what I am talking about.
People go there to see and be seen.
Brick walls, tasteful lighting.
Dudes in fitted shirts.
$ 15 two-bite appetizers.
Blackberries and Razr phones.
Complicated shoes.
A DJ spinning pretty cool mellow techno music.
Glasses frames that Make A Statement.
Edgy bangs.
Surreptitious glances.
Some cougars prowling around.
Overheard, "So, are you into boys or girls?"
I was driving, so I did a lot of observing the scene, such as it is.
Some crusty dude sitting on a bench on the street, septum ring, drinking an Olympia beer, telling vulgar jokes.
Vulgar, I tell you.
I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before.
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
In my life...
posted by Joe at
2:12 AM
2 Comments:
You can't make that trip up the coast unless you take me with you. I'll sit in the backseat and be really quiet.
love that song
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