A heightened feeling of freedom on a Friday as I sense the earthquake weather is being fought off by the reasonable demand that summer start acting like summer again. This weekend, my fiancee is off to her bachelorette party and I am left to my own devices. Joining me are the Walsh brothers, fresh from eating wild boars in the forests of northern California. I have never heard either one of these guys tell me a whim or idea I wanted to pursue was a bad idea, which is usually how I end up in such trouble.
The overarching point is that this summer more than any before it seems to be slipping away. There has been an incredible lack of toes in sand and warm rum in beach-side parking lots. No more. I can’t stand it. All of that immediately and some tiki drinks at Trader Vic’s watching Endless Summer on the side of the big white wall over the Beverly Hilton pool. Let’s gawk at some overweight tourists. Let’s eat some crab rangoon because no one is stopping us. Let’s put a cigarette out on autumn’s forehead. Not yet, college football!
It all stems from the incurable need to have nothing to due on a warm day. You can feel free to stop at canyon road vista points and chew on the trunk of a palm tree. Strike that, let me get my teeth into a sandwich from the Trancas Mart and mess with Malibu surf kids walking around like they own the place. Let me drink some ouzo midday at Taverna Tony just because I can.
I have been on the fence about a bachelor party for myself, so I will reserve all judgment until I hear how my fiancee’s goes this weekend. In the meantime, I am going to headbutt this weekend in the face and make sure to laugh my ass off a few dozen times.
Tell you what, Lost Angeles. If you are around, so am I. Find me on the social platforms, let me know where you will be.