You Can Check Out Anytime You Like...

Since Cara's car was still in the shop today, Cara and I toured around Seal Beach, Venice Beach, Santa Monica, and Hollywood with the help of Cara's brother. It was a lot of fun, but very exhausting; during the car rides in between the cities I kept falling asleep. This was partially due to being woken up early by what can best be described as an olfactory alarm clock.

Cara's brother's dog Breaker has been sick for the past few days. He normally tells people when he needs to go outside, and since I was asleep on the sofa in the living room - he attempted to tell me. I, of course, was asleep, and clueless as to the impending doom Breaker was holding back. He began to grunt and shuffle a little - normal for Breaker - which woke me slightly from my sleep. When I turned to find the source of the noise, there he was staring at me. He stared at me all throughout dinner yesterday, so I took it as normal and rolled back over. I remember thinking: "I wonder if he has to go outside?" as I drifted back off to sleep amidst the shuffling and the staring.

I was asleep again when the smell hit, and Cara's sister in-law interrupted the silence. "No, Breaker! Oh, I am going to kill you Breaker!" She is originally from Peru and speaks with a rich Peruvian accent. "Breaker!"

Breaker had shit a puddle on the carpet. It was thick diarrea - resting like a dead jellyfish atop the fibers. The stench permeated the room, and Cara and I were awake (if you have never tried, it is very hard to sleep with a bad smell lingering in the room). If someone could market that smell, it would make one Hell of an alarm clock. I'm not sure how many people would buy it (certainly not anosmiacs), but it would be very effective.

Once the smell was gone, and the poop scrubbed from the carpet, Cara's brother took us out to see the city. What struck me was that each beach we visited really had a style and atmosphere all it's own. Seal Beach seemed older with a small town type charm. It was here that we went to the mythical shell store. For weeks Cara has been talking about this store and how "amazing" it is, and it has been stated before Cara doesn't like to compliment things. The shell store was fun, but I'm not sure it was worth the hype. Sorry
Cara...

Venice has an open street market all up and down the beach front. We wound our way past small kitsch stores and kiosks, various types of taco and pizza stands, rappers selling sample CDs, medical marijuana "doctors," henna tattoo artists, and a man asking if anyone would like a body piercing or a tattoo (real ones this time). My question is: who in their right mind would get a tattoo at a beachside shack in Venice, CA? That's just asking for hepatitis. The man said that he had an 81 year old woman from Florida get a tattoo that read: "Venice" the day before, and I'm thinking at her age she should really be more worried about blood borne pathogens.

While wondering around the open market, I came across a vendor of Dia de los Muertos skulls. When I teach puppet design classes, I have my students build Day of the Dead rod puppets, so of course I had to buy one. I don't think it is necessarily authentic since it was sold to me by a young white woman who doesn't speak Spanish, but the craftsmanship is excellent, and it was obviously well researched. I feel that young woman is probably like me - not Spanish - but with a liking of Spanish culture and with a healthy fascination and respect for Dia de los Muertos. Then again, what makes something authentic? Does it have to be made by a person from the culture? Does it lack authenticism because it is removed from cultural connotation? But what if it is made with care and respect by an outside observer? Is it then authentic as well? Or does being an outside observer make it more authentic, because the skull is free to stand from cultural criticism, and is the outsider's way of understanding the "other"? Whatever the scenario, I am happy with my purchase.

Buying the skull also made me extremely proud of my students. Most of my students managed to capture the essence of the holiday and the skulls, and some of their skulls were of a better quality than the one I purchased. One in particular stands out in my mind. The skull of her puppet could sell for far more than what I paid for mine. Mentally comparing her skull to the ones on sale was one moment that really made me proud as a teacher.

Another thing happened at Venice... an obviously high young man carrying a wooden stick (the kind from a broken piece of wood not a branch) decided to harass Cara. "Girl, I Love you," he almost whispered as he got in her face. "Not for your beauty, but for your booty." Cara just walked past him, and he moved on to the girl walking behind us: "Girl, I love you. Not for your..." It was the same line again. I guess in his mind you simply try the same approach until you succeed. Isn't that what Einstein referred to as insanity?

Hollywood was by far my favorite of the day. It, of course, is not a beach, but the vibe of the city was by far the most thrilling. I found myself drawn to the crowds, the commotion, and the beauty of the locale. It didn't seem real to be standing in front of Grauman's Chinese Theatre, the Kodak, and all of these places that I have seen in television and movies.

One thing about Hollywood though... I am not easily star-struck. (I did take a few pictures of stars on the walk of fame. I admire the talent of Kevin Spacey, and Dolly Parton is one of my all time favorites. I also love puppets, so Kermit the Frog was a must.) Today people lined up for hours along Hollywood Boulevard to see Leonardo DiCaprio exit his limo at Grauman's for the premier of his new movie Inception. We were lucky, after we finished touring around town, we managed to see him exit his limo and begin the walk down the red carpet. Fans, including Cara, were going crazy. I have never seen Cara revert to a school girl with a crush before; it was adorable. I was happy to get to see him, but it wasn't the highlight of my day like it had obviously been for some of these people. (I doubt it was the highlight of Cara's day, but you'd have to ask her...)

I started to wonder if something was wrong with me. Is it odd that I didn't get more excited? Should seeing celebrities be the highlight of my day? Should I sign up for the "celebrity homes" tours that take place about every 15 minutes from just about every intersection on Hollywood Blvd? Why do I not get that star-struck? Am I jealous? I don't think so, I like my life (for the most part). Am I envious? In a way, I would love to have money like that, but who wouldn't? (Money doesn't buy happiness, but it solves a lot of other problems.) I think maybe it is because I work in theatre. I see actors (not famous ones) all the time, and I think of them as people. So, when I see actors I don't know - I just see people I don't know. I might know characters they played, but I don't really know them.

After spending the afternoon in Hollywood, I really began to question my move to Birmingham. Even with all my redneck tendencies, I am a city boy at heart. I like the pulse, the feel of the people, the rhythm of city life; truthfully it's hard to explain. Yes, Birmingham is a city, but it is not Hollywood. California (especially the LA area) has gotten into my system. It's like that old song by the Eagles, Hotel California:

"'Relax,' said the night man,
'We are programmed to receive.
You can checkout any time you like,
But you can never leave!'"

I have come to California for the purposes of helping Cara move and taking a vacation, but California has left me with something greater than that. I may go back to SC, AL, MI, wherever, but this experience will stick with me. This experience will never leave; a part of me will always remain in California. I'm not sure if the part that remains will allow me to move on and embrace my new life in Alabama, or if it will always be searching for something better something greater.

Would my life truly be better in Hollywood? Probably not - the cost of living is very high. Would I enjoy it? Yes. Is this a place I will consider coming back to permanently? Yes. What I have seen of greater Los Angeles makes it one of the most unique cities I have ever experienced. I quite enjoy it here, and I could see myself having a life here. (I think I could even see me living here over New Mexico.) Does that mean that Alabama will not be a rewarding experience and that I have made a mistake? No. Right now Alabama is the right place for me, and I just need to remind myself of that. I need to remind myself not to become a prisoner of my own device. I must embrace Alabama, and let this experience empower me - not overpower me. I may eventually move to California; but if not, I can always visit. It is very easy to fall in love with this place.

Photos from Seal Beach:


Photos from Venice:
Photos from Santa Monica:
Photos from Hollywood:

Apartment Hunting in Alabama

So today I went apartment hunting in Alabama with a friend of mine. I had a few requirements: I wanted a one bedroom with a dishwasher, preferably a unit with a washer and dryer, and a place that didn't look or smell like ass. I had assumed the last one would be self-explanatory, but apparently not. I also like units that are clean with great views and blinds that don't break when you touch them. Some things, however, are just hard to find...

Yesterday I scheduled several apartment appointments for today. I had found an apartment unit that I really liked, and several others that I wanted to check out as well. I also developed a list of alternates that I wasn't quite sold on, but would take a look at if we had time.

After setting off this morning for a relatively boring road trip, we arrived an hour and a half earlier than we anticipated, so we went straight to the first alternate. The first one was an old renovated hotel that is currently renting out large studios. I was willing to settle for a studio since their studios were only slightly smaller than their one bedrooms, and not a single one bedroom was available.

The first unit was a small studio, and I wasn't impressed. Studios have to have a good layout for me to consider them rentable, and this one had a counter top that jutted at an odd angle into the living space. The larger studio was nicer, but every wall was covered in waxy looking old plaster with thick grooves; the walls looked rough like sandpaper - and were a yellowy orange color. The closet was large, however, and the bathroom was nice. The whole space had character - maybe too much character.

I pointed out a small door in the kitchen to my friend. The door was about a foot above the counter top and was about 9" wide by 14" tall. There was a single hook and eye clasp holding the door closed. I opened it to discover a wonderful view of the hallway. It was a leprechaun door into the hallway - otherwise known as a way for someone to steal your coffee pot - and various other small kitchen appliances. Granted, the thief would have to work a little, and you would have to leave the appliances within an arm's length, but it could happen.

After passing on the small spaces with the doors for tiny thieves, my friend and I drove down to another alternate. That's where we met Veronica, and as Beyonce might say: I wasn't ready for those preserves. You would really have to love jelly to love Veronica - she jiggled from almost every angle - and was incredibly slow. I swear it took her ten minutes to get the keys to the apartments. The first one she showed us, I bypassed immediately (no dishwasher), and then we followed her - by car - to the next apartment. She turned down a road with a gigantic hill, and up at the very top were beautiful apartments lining the peak. Her car climbed closer and closer to the peak, when it approached a sign that read: The Hillside. Then she turned - into a parking lot, or a pothole who decided to go to a costume party poorly disguised as a parking lot - to the most ghetto fabulous (or just straight ghetto) apartments I have ever seen.

The first car in this ditch of a lot was a jacked up purple sedan with huge tires and silver rims. I could almost see Snoop Dog smoking some herb. This was sign one.

Sign two was the fact that the stairs up to the apartment were broken. Sign three was the fireplace. It was poorly constructed, probably a fire trap, and one half of it was stained while the other was not.

My friend decided to check out the view from the bedroom. It was okay, if you like dumpsters. This apartment - decrepitly lurching precariously aside one steep ass hill - overlooked a mother f*!cking dumpster - a dumpster sitting atop what used to be a swimming pool that had been filled in with concrete - surrounded by the same ditch-like parking lot (apparently it was tiered). What made it better was when my friend opened the blinds to examine the belle vista, they broke! Vertical blind slats went falling to the floor.

Veronica tried to explain how the complex was going to make the view better - her body still jiggling from the stair climb. But a dumpster, really Veronica? A swimming pool filled in with concrete? There's no coming back from that. I really shouldn't make fun of Veronica, she was nice. Being nice, however, does not make up for bad apartments. Veronica, if you're reading - the jiggling comments are only meant in jest - sure you're a big girl, but big girls need love too... Let's find you a chubby chaser!

The next apartment is the one I hopefully will end up getting. I find out tomorrow or Monday. It was my first appointment and was shown to me by Dietra. Dietra was pretty awesome. She took my friend and I around the apartment community on a golf-cart, showed us the model, and took us to where my unit will be. Amazing community. It's in the northside of the city, and I can walk to the library, the post office, the art museum, restaurants, a street full of kitchy little stores, the YMCA, and a community farmer's market and garden. Words can't really describe how cool this apartment is... I'm very excited.

I almost ended my search then, but I wanted to check out the southside of the city, because it would be closer to work. Granted, the alternates had been in the southside, but these appointments had looked nicer on-line.

The next apartment we looked at was shown to us by Laura. Finding Laura's office was quite the challenge, but once we found it, all was nice. The office was far away from the rentable properties - very off-site. We followed her to our final destination: 33rd Street. The road seemed to stretch on forever, and as we rounded curves and parks, the neighborhood seemed to be more and more beautiful. I found myself thinking that southside might just be better than northside, and that it would be a dream to walk to places in this very gorgeous setting.

We arrived at 33rd Street, went to the top of another hill, looped around and entered the one ghetto block in the entire neighborhood. We pulled up to what looked like a converted house block down a shifty pot-holed driveway. I turned to my friend: "I'm not even considering this if it isn't one of the units in the front." Of course it was a side unit. A side unit that faced the broken down alley-way, and a side unit that the maintenance crews had forgotten to clean! Laura kept apologizing for the cleanliness, but I wanted to tell her that polishing a turd only leaves you with shit. If by cleaning she mean razing the walls and sowing the fields with salt, I might be convinced.

After parting ways with Laura, we met up with another woman whose name I cannot recall. She was nice, but she was one of those women who, you can tell, hasn't really ever grown up. I bet she's at home right now reminiscing about her glory days of high school when she was a cheerleader and a size 0 instead of a 4.

High School's apartments were nicer than the last. I actually considered one of them. The location was great - close to southside restaurants, night-life, and other things. Plus, it had exposed brick in the shower! I'm still not certain that is entirely sanitary, but it led to some fun discussions with High School.

After showing us the two nice units, High School sent us off to another unit (coincidentally across the street from Veronica's units). I was already unimpressed. My friend turned to me and said: "This looks like every movie or TV show where there's a drug sting," and I had to agree. It was clearly a drug dealer neighborhood.

When we entered the apartment, we were pleasantly surprised. It was actually very nice! Great hardwood floors, new appliances, etc. Everything inside was wonderful, except for the smell. It smelled funky. It was a funk that permeated every room and was rather obnoxious. Needless to say, I passed on that one.

At the end of the day, nothing really came close to the apartment on the northside of the city. It was really quite close to perfection. Let's all cross our fingers and pray. I really want this apartment.