My first trip to California was incredible and not in any of the ways that I thought it would be. I mean, I never gave a shit about the desert before, but now I totally “get it”. I get why the big sky and expansive terrain that morphs and changes yet always stays the same, and stretches around you and protects with its big mountainous hug. I love the desert. Artists in Joshua Tree, punks and screaming Christian’s in Slab City, aliens and hippies and Pappy & Harriets. I met my desert uncle at an open mic night in 29 Palms, a long bearded guy who shared my last name and we talked about our East coast relatives. I mean we probably weren’t really related but the idea was funny enough to keep talking to him for awhile. I discovered that walking a desert mile is the equivalent of 4 regular miles, and if you’re going to Bombay Beach you definitely have to get out of your car and check out the shittiest free museum in America. It gets cold at night in November which I wasn’t expecting being from someplace where it’s cold 80% of the time and you’ll sweat all day and shiver at night when you walk from the Santa Monica pier to Venice beach. Of course I loved LA, I’ve already fallen in love with the idea of it. Aside from the smell of piss and tar pits down town it was exactly as I loved it in my mind. I cried a little when I saw the Hollywood sign for the time. I already can’t wait to go back.
