Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Life's a Beach

Having just returned from a near perfect break spent entirely with family, it's easy to discover a fringe benefit of such a great vacation: the refreshing opportunity to adjust one's perspective.  

Relaxing on this sunny beach, writing, gentle waves crashing in the background, it naturally becomes evident that vacation is not just a segment of life.  No, all of life is a vacation.  

At least, it can be. 

That, however, is a matter of perspective.  And, given the wonderful balance I currently find in mine, all of life seems a big holiday to me.  

Friday, March 7, 2014

Untitled, part 1

It's almost as if the kid had washed ashore in Los Angeles - so quickly he was battered and bruised upon arrival.

The kid?  Maybe only in terms of his naivete'.  At this point, he was was 30.

But he had some things going for himself.  Primarily, a job.  Sufficient in both stability and promise, one could accurately describe it as a career.  And his health.  Always strong from a lifelong dedication to fitness.  

Already scarred by war, disappointments, and life, he was allowing L.A. to flush all he had positive away.

But, boy, was he having fun.

Long a devotee of the Jim Morrison cult, he worked fast to establish his own drunken reputation on the Sunset Strip.

Known to the Doors then as The London Fog, the bar now Rock and Reilly's quickly became his go-to hang-out. Opening at 11:30 a.m., he had a beer in hand by 11:31.  He had also been the final patron out upon closing. During the same visit.   

The "Whiskey", next door, conjured special allure.  Steeped in history, he partied there with angry and frenetic energy. An effort, no doubt, to develop a particular legacy of his own. His wallet, lost forever, was a victim of the Whiskey.  Ultimately, so was he. 

He once stumbled out.  The type of stumbling that produces blood, and leaves scars. That particular evening ended, thankfully for him, in his own bed.  He arrived there via taxi cab.  A taxi cab that he was placed in by gracious police officers.  The following morning, the return ride was a 100 dollar fare; exactly as it had been the night before.  

Only a handful days past arrival, he took a quick liking to a local strip club. A habitual visitor, he beat a worn path from ATM to the private dance room.  Fueled by beer and whiskey shots, his expenditures there could have financed an exotic car.   

A preferred Irish bar was just a few short miles from his apartment; an easy right-left-right. Driving home after a long night of libations, he once got lost. 

Plenty of money and time was spent in pursuit of the perfect hedonistic L.A. lifestyle.  But, none of it, he thought, wasted.  Besides, he was being responsible, never drinking on nights prior to workdays.  

Unbeknownst to him, it was coming.  A wake-up call, though not the first of his life, but the most recent.  And, perhaps, the most important.  

More to follow during the next entry....

Just something I am working on.  Toying with the title, "Burnt Out by the City of Lights"...

Monday, December 2, 2013

Started From The Bottom

Having returned home this morning (Monday), I find myself listening to Kendrick Lamar and Miley Cyrus on repeat.  

A sure sign of an enjoyable weekend

On Thursday, I drove to Florida. 

And, this morning, I walked back in my door at 5 a.m. Four days, and a few hours; total damage: 

In between, mostly excellent things occurred, with a single exception (one specific play during the Football Game That Will Not Be Named). 

For the first time since I left Tampa, I finally felt again totally comfortable in my own skin. Probably because I was, in fact, back in Tampa.  It sure felt good to be home. 

Going back to Tampa is like having the reunion I never want to have.  Only because I wish there was so little time lost between the crew. Reunions should be unnecessary.  

I can hardly adequately describe the satisfaction I receive from getting back in touch with Charlie, Kristy, their amazing family, Ian, Tim, the assorted other Kristys, Sweet Tomatoes, USF and, of course, my daughter: 

(and adopted nephew, here pictured using the couch as designed)

But what truly made this weekend special was simply seeing how well all my friends are doing.  Everyone seems genuinely happy.  

Me, included.  

The weekend in Tampa was so totally fulfilling, and I can't wait to make my way back down there.  

This weekend, on a scale of one-to-five, was Emily Ratajkowski.