It's a place and a state of face.
It's the name of my pool house setup located in what I'm told is "LA 66 but we all know it's Venice, even though the strip just to the east of Washington Blvd. is technically Culver and the other side of the street belongs to Marina del Ray..." or...something like that. What it is, is a yard of lemon trees and Jesus holding a plastic shotgun and a bed high enough that, when I'm setting up base camp on my journey to the top, I'm reminded of climbing aboard hay bales as a kid. It is a turquoise pool that promises hypothermia in this frigid March weather if you explore it, and a bathroom with rusted signs warning me that there's no dumping allowed. It's clean and unapologetic and loud and warm. It is essentially everything that I ever aim to be.
Susie and I touched down before 9 AM yesterday morning, and she and I and Arpad and his lady battled the wind like the seagulls, though we proved to be more successful thanks to our hot new aerodynamic aviators. (Don't ask me how, it just is.) I didn't have time to think much for the laughing and the sand exfoliating my ankles, and the glorious PinkBerry, the idea of which my childlike brain wouldn't let go once someone mentioned it. Susie and I ate dinner in an organic restaurant on Abbott Kinney that had AstroTurf for flooring and allowed dogs.
I feel like I'm describing everything in a very Hemingwayan, staccato sort of way. I suppose it's the only way that'll do until I'm able to figure out what my journey is here. Hindsight is always 20/20.
The property owner and manger, Buddy, hosted rock bands back in the day and now has a tiki bar with functioning neon signs outside of our bedroom window. The front yard is a mishmash of old metal garden furniture and sheet metal wearing Texaco signs and water hoses. In the turquoise and orange canvas that is my life for these two days, I've found this little place where everything seems like a metaphor that I can't figure out.
We're venturing off to the Santa Monica pier today. It is sunny and there's a chill in the air. And here we are.
And then I wrestled a bear with my hands.