The West Side

Flagstaff is the most beautiful city I’ve ever traveled to. On the north side of I-40 lays a range of incredible snow-capped mountains. South -- oceans of deserts. I missed the first half of the Butler game because I had to call the 5-0 to come let me out of a subterranean parking garage that wouldn't accept my money. All I missed was Matt Howard clanking three bunnies. Great job!

Jon Stewart once said music is the only thing to pacify the monotony of Trans-American highway driving. He said between thinking about everything from "where the nearest rest stop is" to "how you have let down everyone you have ever met in life" can only be bridged by tunes. Music was the only thing keeping him from driving off every bridge on the way. The point is the silence of my own mind is terrifying place. You know how you tend to suppress memories awkward and shocking? Driving alone is the realm where these memories rear their ugly heads. If you yourself ever embark on a trip of this magnitude with no one, you'll know what I'm talking about.

That's where Bruce comes in. My auto-relationship with the boss started in late February 2009 before I moved into the dude ranch. I purchased a CD at a Carmel Wal-Mart and Rocked out. My radio doesn't work (snapped antenna), I operate solely off of CDs and my iPod fed headphones (illegal). I threw in Greatest Hits. My CD player broke shortly after. Through a year of laziness and choosing to spend my money elsewhere, the CD remained firmly affixed. Still haven't taken in out yet. Greatest Hits has cycled through over 1000 times (est.) and is scenery in the Civic. Yes, Mr. Springsteen, we we're definitely Born to Run.

I arrived in California around 10 a.m. on April 6. My distance traveled astonished the man at the border who asked me if I was transporting fruits and vegetables. I said no and he let me into the Golden State.

Do yourself a favor and map out the most secure cities to refill gasoline. You don't want to end up in Victorville, CA with this guy staring you down. Being on the road for 7 hours for the third straight day, hitting the California mountains was the most nerve-racking experience of my life. To witness people drive on the freeways in this state is witnessing a type of vehicle operation you would never imagine. People pass both on the right and left. Motorcyclists drive in between two side-by-side vehicles; slowed, stopped or even when you are going 75! Reckless, dangerous, aggressive are adjectives. They don't do the horrors of driving down the 134 justice, so I'll create an adjective. Aggrangerless. Scary.

Relieved, I arrived in sunny Burbank, CA!

The first week was a blur. I was travel-logged the first three days and purchased a bed the second day. I familiarized myself with the area; went to Vonn's (supermarket), Autozone (car repair shop) and Subway (sandwich shop -- did you know they offer avocados at Subway in California? MANIFEST DESTINY!). Got acclimated with the new roommates Dan and Jordan, who gave me a crash-course in all things California (Don't jaywalk). We hosted a party in my honor that Friday where I was introduced to some really cool people. Because we live in an apartment complex neighbors aren't too keen on parties. A very-apologetic security guard came to the door three times to tell us to keep it down, and inevitably the fiesta siesta-ed as we opted to speak in whispers around midnight.

The next night was awesome. I took the subway for the first time (not as scary as I would have imagined) down to Hollywood where we exited. Scaling the stairs, sunshine hits your face and you see the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Countless stars line the sidewalks containing names of many celebrities (one that stood out that night was Michael Jackson's. R.I.P Little Michael). Passing through numerous costumed-characters and aspiring hip-hop artists (all charging $10 for their "services" -- getting in my face and demanding I listen to your CD is not a service, it's intrusion), we made our way to a bar and watched a UFC fight.

After that, we headed up to an actor's house in the Hollywood Hills. Getting there means driving up Mulholland Dr. This narrow, windy path is the physical incarnation of where the other half lives. By far and away the most awesome digs I've ever been in. An original Picasso was framed on the wall. Perfect view of the city from his balcony. Over the hill in his backyard was the stage of the Hollywood Bowl.

The next week we went to Venice Beach. No doubt one the neatest spots I've ever been. Venice is crazy. Has to be one of the most liberal places in the world (look it up). It was at Venice Beach where I tried my first fish taco. Also, the first time I saw the Pacific Ocean. The beaches in California vary form the beaches I was used to in Florida and on the cape. Venice lies in cozy nook, where you can see for miles each way. North is Santa Monica, whose unique pier is noticeable for miles. The coolest thing about the landscape out here is every which direction you look (sans smog) -- mountains. Beachside was the most impressive view I’ve seen of the peaks. The contrast in elevation was staggering. I'd never seen a mountain before I drove out here. I'd visited beaches infrequently. I sure as hell never saw both simultaneously. Outstanding.

I am a man of leisure. But I need some cash. Conveniently, Sahms live in California, too! My Aunt Cewa operates booths at festivals and I lent my years of experience to her operation for a couple of weeks. I drove to the desert and sold corndogs at Coachella Music and Art Festival. Having never been to a music festival and hearing tales from my cousin Ed about his past experiences at Bonaroo in Tennessee, I expected to be in for a wild ride. Life that weekend was a party for many, but it was labor for our group. I can't opine properly on what life was like for attendees of the concert. Witnessing a music festival mostly sober (mostly) was wild. I was posted up next to a tent where the rave crowd (NSFW -- but completely suitable if you wanna see what I witnessed for 12 hours a day for three straight days! Plus, FRANK REYNOLDS was sooooooo close to me! --- see the vid) congregated. Selling fried foods to thousands of people on extacy all day wears on a man.

The moments I was able to hop around concerts were pretty great though. I first saw Them Crooked Vultures, who, needless to say, rocked it. The Jay-Z closed it out on Friday. Not a big hip-hop fan, but dude killed it. He played about eight encores. Cewa informed me that Paul McCartney wooed the crowd last year. Amazed. Saturday I stumbled onto this gem (far better live, but a great song) randomly. Home had been on my mind that weekend. A very timely find. Then it was the show I wanted to see the whole weekend, MGMT. I barely made it in time to witness a little Electric Feel, reminding me of a certain Blue and White football team's playoff run this past year (fail.)

Anyway, weekend goes well. We camped in a tent in the desert for four nights. The party went on around us for hours; sleep was at a premium. Alarm clocks are not needed in the desert. You arise when the temperature goes from 50 at night to 90 within 20 minutes of the sun creeping over the horizon. Closing down shop, some of the employees (re: assholes) from the event staff decided that we weren't coming back to claim our gear (really?), so they snatched our possessions from our campsite. FREE WILL! In our burgled tent contained my car keys, four pillows, the IU blanket my sissy made for me, a pair of jeans and MY CAR KEYS! We can't find them. No sign of the tent anywhere. Fortunately, I have my wallet and cell phone.

As my car keys gone, despair sets in. How am I going to get home? What the Hell am I doing out here? How could someone do this to me? I HATE CALIFORNIA! Shirtless, I scream. I am literally in the middle of the desert. After an exhausting weekend, there is no foreseeable path to safety.

Holding back tears, I call my KSF. "Mom...I've never felt so far away from home."

As usual with me, things aren't as dramatic as I make them out to be. Cewa called a locksmith and he bailed me out within a couple hours. Mercifully, the road to Palm Springs for a night was close. I made it back to Los Angeles that day and slept for three days. My main man Sub Xero (donate to this man's wallet!) visited for an afternoon. I returned to the desert for three more days for Stagecoach Music Festival. This was far more pleasant than Coachella (not nearly as many people drugged out). Saw Toby Keith and Brooks and Dunn, stars of the country music world (both outstanding). A fantastic weekend. The country music crowd is far tamer than the filthy hipsters from the week before. Plus, it was great reconnecting with my cousins who I never saw.

After 10 days of shamelessly hollering at every hot chick that came up to order a corn dog, I was ready to head back to L.A. and get myself in order.

Thanks for reading!