Sometimes, I wish writing a blog post entailed the same level of participation of a haircut.
Just show up on time, sit in the chair and the only struggle is to keep from nodding out and walking away with a haircut that looks like a cat's ass. But writing can't be like that—no. You have to think, and weigh. Do I say this or that? Is that right? No? well, then what? I have to do it—I can't just describe the themes in big swaths of ideas and patterns and relax while someone else fills in all the colors and details and then brings it to me to approve and post. But, that's supposed to be the rewarding, "This-Is-Why-I-Do-This" part, int it?
My birthday was last week—thanks for all the cards and bottles y'all. It's okay—my natal anniversary ceased being a reason for crossing state lines to befoul the local morality years ago. I usually keep it low key by design, and for the last few years—has seen PM whisking me away to some fun locale for the weekend. This year it was L.A. Going Hollywood folks—swimming pools, movie stars. Thew Hotel Palomar in Westwood was base for three sun-kissed days (we fled just ahead of the monsoon rains that ensued upon our departure). Pretty swell digs—and due to a mix-up in our reservations— a free upgrade to a vista suite complete with some pretty nice views. Weekend highlights included an incredible Friday night dinner with one of PM's friends in Malibu with the Pacific crashing only yards away from our table and some of the tastiest seafood I have experienced since I left Florida, A Saturday afternoon visit to the happiest place on earth where we all decided that my hearing "Chamber of Ugly Bitches" instead of the actual "Chamber of Earthly Riches" would be telling and sad if it hadn't been so damn funny, and a Saturday evening that was too long overdue, catching up with this lazy blogger. I kid—he's actually one of the nicest people I know and meeting up with him for dinner was the icing on the birthday cake. Thanks again Van.
The only fallout from the L.A. trip was my realization that I can no longer endure the "security theatre" that passes for homeland security. Even though I have oodles of vacation, and PM and I both have the financial resources to travel several times a year—flying has become too stressful and frustrating to make the destination worth the hassle. So sorry Airlines—we coulda had somethin. A few hours in the cattle lines of LAX can make the idea of even a multi-day road trip seem like a goddamn mardi gras by comparison.
Since then, —not much besides recovering from some sinus stuff and re-discovering the joys of liquid codeine. Oh, and lots and lots of guitar. Speaking of guitar—I'm fancying another one now that my taxes are done and a big fat refund is on it's way. Once can never have too many guitars—or guns or tattoos for that matter. PM just shakes his head and plugs his ears. He funny, funny man.
Okay. I'm done.
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