Here’s some random brain droppings just to send you towards the weekend proper. I must admit that my fiancee is off to the desert this weekend. Jealous sets in, don’t care it is sweltering there. Palm Springs makes me want to throw pineapples at passing cars and dance in boat shoes. In fact, that’s what I do when I go there, which I am planning to do soon. In the middle of the heat, in the middle of the street, just me and the mountain and some pineapples and your fucking windshield. Yeah you.
So, because my car Ichiro has decided he’d rather go with her to the desert, it’s me and her Jetta all weekend. Me in a Jetta driving home down Santa Monica Boulevard. At least she took down her beads that hung around the mirror for years and years. Me and the Jetta have lots of memories of the California coast line. I’m just giving her a hard time. We’ll see if the VW remembers what it was like to be commanded around Angeles by a bear.
There will need to be some baseball, first. It has really gotten down to glorious business. I am connected to the sport as the Lakers look to clean up. We’ll get to them in a minute. Will be at the stadium a bit to see the red hot Braves, the Bravos, who hail from the ATL, Hotlanta. I want to see what this Heyward is all about. I plan to scream at him and see if he wants to go sake bombing. Man, I am feisty right now. Would suck to be in the on deck circle with this cat around.
So back to the Lakers. I want them to crush Boston, but I am dealing with a reality all of you had better get going on dealing with now. Boston is a city of cockroaches, they can’t be killed. We could win the next 100 meetings with them and the majority of Boston proper would blame the refs or make statements like “LA didn’t win, Boston lost”. As far as I am concerned, we’re pulling Paul Pierce’s Angeleno card. He can eat one and shave that ugly beard he has. Let’s go Lake Show, close these guys out in four for the love of Kobe.
What else, what else? Renewed enthusiasm for the universe on this Friday. I challenge you to text me this weekend, especially if you see a bourbon colored lightning bolt streaking down your street. Next week is going to be my week. I will own it on so many levels that I am just going to start celebrating now. I will have to or I will end up autonomously driving myself to Palm Springs to party. Los Angeles is going to earn my patronage this weekend and she needs me with the Braves and Celtics in town. No one else can save us, I’m the man for the job. I just hope I see Garnett on the streets somewhere. I’ll run right up to him and deal him something devastating like “what’s up KG” or “hey, man”. I’ll really let him have it.
I am looking for one thing this weekend coming off a week of secret writing that isn’t going up here or anywhere else. I am looking for that perfect witching hour quiet moment where the only thing that could disrupt it is the San Andreas fault opening up to pay us all back for being such assholes. I am looking for the moment of clarity where a sad bastard music feels happy because there’s some sort of connection with the universe that makes it feel like the ending credits are about to roll and everyone else will have to wonder what became of us, the main characters. If you are awake late at night and you think you are experiencing it, signal me somehow. Don’t be shy. Carve the message in the moon if you can.
So where might I be? So hard to say at this point. Probably avoiding some people and seeking out others. In the last six months I have mastered being a ghost in this city. I am spending a lot of time watching everyone around me flail and picturing how it might feel, what it sounds like. I’m holding on to a fire hydrant in a tornado and the wind in my hair is kind of exhilarating. I need to know the guys who went to Tahoe are tearing it up. I want to hear it from Beverly Hills. Make some noise in Palm Springs girls. Tom and Garrett better be keeping it weird in Davis. I’m checking in on all of you from the back of a well-trained bear that I will be riding down Burton Way with a lightsaber as I trim the excess fronds from the palm trees. I’m going to sit in with the house band at Windows at the Four Seasons as the call girls find their men. I’m gonna count my blessings and I hope you do too.
Are you ready for the weekend yet? It’s summer. Here’s a song for you. Here’s the mood I’m in. As always, Los Angeles, I’m yours.