Dream of Californication (Part 2)

From the start, I had decided that if I was going to drive down for this interview, I was going to take the Pacific Coast Highway/US 1/whatever you want to call it back up to Davis. When Adam generously donated his Prius for the trip, it was decided. I had intended on getting an early start to the day, and even set an alarm for 5:30am.

As it turned out, this was later than my body wanted to leave. I woke up at around 3:30am and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I got up, showered and packed, and when my 5:30 alarm went off, I was walking out the front door of my hotel. I actually began my drive in the dark, and had to wait around in Malibu for the sun to rise. What followed was probably the most indescribably beautiful 14 hour drives of my entire life. From Malibu’s “27 Miles of Scenic Beauty” (when you drive into Malibu there’s actually a sign that says that), to the windswept coast of Cambria, to the cliffs and hairpin turns of Big Sur, this is without a doubt an experience everyone should have at least once in their life. I’m positive I’ll never forget the scenes I saw yesterday, and pictures do a horrendously inadequate job of capturing just how incredible everything was. Since I’ve known about Big Sur, Monterey, Pismo, etc., they’ve been these mythical icons of Pacific geography featured in movies and posters. The entire coast is well deserving of the reverence it receives. 

Good start to the day: Sunrise in Malibu.

On the road, south of Santa Barbara.

Pismo Beach.

The pier in Cayucos.

The beach in Cambria.

I'm not afraid of heights, but this was a little scary. I could have easily walked/slipped/fallen over the edge of this cliff. That was at least 100 feet below where I was standing.

This is an awesome picture, and it doesn't even compare to what it really looked like. I hate to sound like a snob, but its true.

On the road south of Big Sur.

Dream of Californication (Part 1)

The past few days have been pretty hectic.

Tuesday morning I set off for Los Angeles, specifically Torrance, California. Actually, specifically Redondo Beach, California. This was my second time in the Los Angeles area, and I still don’t understand where LA begins and/or ends. Anyway, its pretty absurdly nice in Southern California, where everybody’s attitude basically boil down to this: Career? Family? Security? Who needs any of that…I can bartend three nights a week and just hang out in the gorgeous weather the rest of the time and be totally content. Its great. I was there, though, for ambitious reasons: to interview for a real job that could necessitate a REAL move. It went fine, we’ll see what happens. I’ll probably be finding out next week.

The real attraction, though, was seeing the area to see if I could stand living there (which I think I could), and also the drive back up to Davis along the coast, which was quite a trip and probably another entry (with pictures if I can figure out how to do it). The entire “South Bay” area was nice, comprised of the beach towns and some inland towns south of Los Angeles. Redondo, Hermosa, and Manhattan Beaches, Torrance, El Segundo, etc. I was staying right on the water and enjoyed it pretty thoroughly.

Best/worst part of the whole time down there: After my interview, I went back to the hotel, changed, and wandered out to find a bar to wind down, get something to eat, and watch the first game of the World Series. This was around 4 or 4:30 in the afternoon. I walk into this place that was largely empty, which was fine with me, to find a woman holding an Irish coffee glass, talking slurredly with the bartender. I’m not sure what motivated her to be drinking a hot drink on an 80 degree day, but she evidently was motivated to drink about 12 of them. To the point that she began talking to herself in her reflection in the brass of the beer tree coming out of the bar. The bartender and I shared a quiet side conversation about how she “didn’t give a shit how crazy she was because she tipped well”, and then proceeded to watch her further deteriorate.

Now after I’d be there for a while enjoying food, bar conversation, and several (Draft!) Pacificos, out walks one of the cooks who is now off duty and apparently determined to get drunk. His name was Carlos (I think), and had come to LA from Mexico City about 10 years ago (I think). Now, I love Mexican people, and I have a rudimentary knowledge of Spanish (especially after some beers), but I could barely understand anything this man was saying, I’m pretty sure he didn’t understand me, and yet he kept trying to talk to me, and kept literally making me take shots of tequila with him. I’m pretty certain he was trying to get me drunk, and it was really starting to creep me out, so I left muy rapido (see? Spanish!). Looking back, this was funny, and I guess it was a little bit at the time, but the bar had certainly served its purpose, and I went back to my hotel and passed out happily. At about 9:30pm.  

They call it "Sac" for a reason

So last night was interesting to say the least. Had my first Pho experience (pronounced fa because the Vietnamese don’t believe in phonetic spelling) for dinner which was good. Then we had the pleasure of venturing into downtown Sacramento. The entire night was almost like an odd dream. First of all, every single one of Adam’s friends that was there reminded me of somebody, whether I could pick out who it was or not. Then there was “Old Town” Sacramento itself, which was also strange. It’s in the middle of a city that isn’t so nice, and the people hanging around for the most part weren’t so nice looking, and yet the whole area is done up like the city is still in the midst of Sacramento’s gold rush golden age. It was absolutely ridiculous.

So we went to a bar (which neither Adam or I chose) called “The Back Door”, which actually advertised the fact that it was NOT a gay bar, which made me wonder why they’d go to the trouble of letting people know this rather than just change the horrendously ambiguous name. The entertainment for the patrons (that averaged at least 15 years older than myself) was a guy who was essentially singing Tony Bennett-esque karaoke covers of random songs, including “Don’t Stop Believin’”, “Brown Eyed Girl”, and “Fools Rush In”.

Shockingly, we actually walked out of this place at some point rather than staying forever. Since she’d be complaining about being hungry for the better part of 2 hours, we decided to stop at Denny’s to pacify Katherine, which quickly became the highlight of my evening. Not only did we indulge in a “Grand Slamwich” which featured every sort of breakfast pork product you can think of, but we were treated to the post-club crowd as they began filtering in. This also caused us to be basically kicked out of our table to make room for a group of 10 that was coming in. I was happy to oblige, since I’m pretty sure they’d have eaten us if we hadn’t moved. Then, apparently when we were waiting for the rest of our party to assemble, the waitress told Adam to “be careful of the crackheads in the parking lot.” I can’t adequately express the disappointment I feel from having not actually heard these words leave this woman’s mouth, but I trust Adam wouldn’t make something this absurd up, and I also assume that the 3-5 security guards they had on staff were also not there for no reason. The main entrance of the restaurant wasn’t even in use when we were leaving; you had to walk out through the emergency exit, which took you past 2 guards, as well as a uniformed police officer outside the door.

Now you may be thinking, wow that sounds awful, but it really wasn’t. Adam and Katherine seemed to feel uncomfortable in the parking lot, perhaps because of the guys we had to walk by, one of which may have referred to a girl as “snowflake”, but by this point I was in a quasi food coma and was far too in awe of the hilarity of this whole situation to really take it in properly.

In summation, basically the entire night was one big “is this really happening” moment and was fantastic, from the déjà vu to Mr. Bennett to the crackheads. I feel properly welcomed to northern California.

Observations and Gripes

Davis is home to quite a bit more wildlife than I had imagined or initially noticed. There are the obligatory squirrels, assorted birds, and hippies, but one species has attracted my immediate scorn. Ducks. Adjoining my landlord’s apartment complex is the Davis Arboretum, home to a variety of plant life from the world over, including Australia, New Zealand, and other parts of California. Or possibly this part of California. I’m not really sure. Anyway, there are also approximately 17,562 (I counted) Mallard ducks residing in said arboretum as well. Who find it necessary to quack extremely loudly each morning. They could potentially be scared (as I still sometimes am) by the trains passing on the nearby tracks. Thankfully, they were a bit quieter this morning (Sidenote: probably due to the grey skies that are fairly unwelcome. Turn this shitty weather around Davis), and I’m also stuck on Eastern Time, so waking up at 8:00 or 9:00 is acceptable.

Another observation from the past two days: Davis may be the small business capitol of the United States. Given I haven’t been everywhere and I have probably spent more time traveling via bicycle and foot (I walked today so I could actually look around without fear of death) in 2 days here than in other places, but the town is practically totally devoid of chain restaurants save a Taco Bell and Jack in a Box. Oh, and Starbucks (obviously). And possibly some chains I haven’t heard of because they’re uniquely Californian. So, after punching my theory full of holes, I decided to not go to any place more than once so I can get a good sampling of the various coffee/taco/deli/eclectic cafes in the area. Except Guadalajara’s, where I had three fantastic tacos for dinner last night. I’ll probably want to go there for almost every meal, but I’ll try to resist.

Hola Davis

First day in Davis has been pretty solid. I have to say, the atmosphere here is pretty cool, somehow combining gigantic university energy with small town charm. And it’s not nearly as atrocious as certain people have told me (cough…Ally…cough). And the sweet weather doesn't hurt either I guess.

Woke up this morning and did my best to unpack the increasingly humorous amount of crap I found it necessary to bring. And also be Adam’s housewife. I actually vacuumed, which I hate doing and haven’t even done in my own home for quite a while. It was about as emasculating as you’d imagine, but I at least felt quasi-useful.

Went to Sophia’s Thai Kitchen for lunch with Adam and Katherine for the first Thai food I’ve had in a while. After, Adam may or may not have killed a homeless man by offering him the leftovers of his chicken with red curry sauce but not disclosing the fact that it may contain peanuts. In this age of rampant food allergies, I’m not sure how he could have been so careless (ha).

After lunch I was treated to a tour of Adam’s physics lab which contained more complicated and expensive scientific equipment than I’ve ever seen in one place outside of a James Bond movie. Oh, and we rode bikes to the lab. Bicycles. Which I haven’t done since I was about 14. And I then rode one around town for about 2.5 hours. I’m still alive, didn’t fall once and didn’t even come close to getting hit by a car. Win, win and win.

Au Revoir New Jersey

It’s with a nervousness I’m unaccustomed to that I take off from Newark Airport today, and it’s not a fear of flying. As we take off and soar past the skyline of the city I’ve admired nearly my entire life (not Newark), I have a mixture of excitement and trepidation that this is a vantage point I may become more and more used to. Today I’ve set out on a month-long trip, not just of debauchery with one Mr. Adam Dioguardi, but a trip that could drastically change the path that my life has been going along and destroying any sort of “plan” I’ve ever had (which is not to say I have ever had a grand life plan).

Today, I’ve departed for San Francisco International Airport, with a final destination of Davis, California, home of the University of California-Davis, the employer/educator of one of my best friends. However, one week from today, I’ll be in Torrance, CA interviewing for a job which could be an incredible opportunity for me, both personally and professionally. I would have the challenge of moving 3000 miles from nearly everyone I’ve ever known, as well as assuming an organizational role at least one step higher on the corporate ladder than I would have thought I’d be qualified for.

I’m not sure how much writing like this I’ll be doing during the course of my travels, which will take me via Prius from Davis to Torrance/Redondo Beach/Los Angeles and back through various coastal cities; via uncertain means to Portland, Oregon; and hopefully via Prius once more to Lake Tahoe, San Francisco, and Monterey, CA in some uncertain, as yet unplanned order. This is undoubtedly the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever done, so if that’s not your thing, you could probably stop now (or 2 paragraphs ago), but if you’re curious, read along and I’ll try to be entertaining.

(Special mention to Nick Dioguardi, the inspiration for this literary ego trip, and also the person who made it not seem like too much of an ego trip)