If you say "really?" one more time I'm gonna curb stomp you

This is the girl that took my picture.
No, not really. Pretty close though. 

Location: LA (almost over)
Total bike miles for January: 804
Todays ride: here.

Almost everything is in place for the hop to Europe. Except that I came across a bit of information that could have derailed the whole show. Apparently you are not allowed into Europe if your passport expires within 3 months of entry. Mine does. Early morning visit to the passport agency is on the shed-shuwal.

Rode the bike again today and something got into me, or outta me, but I felt amazing. Like my legs weren't even there. When you start out a ride going hammer-style and you feel really good it's usually because you made the mistake of not checking the wind. Which is to say that the wind is behind you but you don't know it, until you turn around and get blasted.

Except today, I started into the wind and still felt amazing. Rode up to Zuma Beach, which is the sight of thousands and thousands of commercials, movies, and photo shoots.

Got a nice picture taken by a very, very, very nice woman wearing, umm, do I even have to say it? Christ, alright: yoga pants. Fitness model. Doing a photo shoot. Blond. Incredible body. She was, also, the first person to see me trying to frame myself in a shot and offer up a helping hand, so that was the only part that wasn't vomitously unoriginal.

Point Dume, today. 

That beach was also where I worked my first day as an "actor" back in 1995. And let's not confuse things; I worked as an extra on that day, but I didn't do a millisecond of acting.

It's "background artist," though I detest even that terminology, not "background actor". You're a prop with a beating heart. Playing with a calculator does not make you a mathematician, my friend.

Well, maybe in LA it does.

What I did for work when I was here was (1) act like a personal trainer even though I wasn't licensed or anything and (2) act like a house painter even though I knew less about that than getting someone else in shape (3) act in a handful of movies and TV crap and some fantastic plays and some shitty plays and semi-model.

Point Dume, a while back.
Or a while forward, depending
on what you believe. 

The painting part was a circus. I painted this ladies bathroom in white, oil based paint. You know how long that shit takes to dry? I didn't know either, but I do know that it was my first and last job as a painter and I refunded all of her money.

The personal trainer gig? Well, my neighbor had started a little place and needed help, so I helped. I didn't do a damn thing beyond count to 12 over and over again, and listen to bored housewives talk about you-name-it, and then try and lose their "private" number.

Point is, LA is just a kinda-fucked city filled up with kinda-fucked up people. And it creeps into you, the way the whole thing operates: (1) go to the supermarket and steal glances but do not appear happy and do not engage anyone (2) when you receive a call from someone, do not return that phone call for a couple of days, at the very least, and if you get to three days, you don't really have to return it at all, and (3) promise to get together, but repeatedly postpone.

You know how fucking desperate people are in LA for positivity? I stopped the other day on the bike path because this older lady seemed to be having some trouble with her bike seat. When I fixed it for her, she was fucking GUSHING. Gush. Ing.

And when I move down a seat at the restaurant bar so a guy and his gal can have two seats next to eachother I get "Wow, that was really nice of you. Seriously, thank you so much. That was a really cool move."

Eh? I...just...did...the right thing. A simple, considerate, thing. Rinse and repeat this experience with doors held open and so on and so forth.

There are at least five people I knew very well when I was here who are still here. Two know very well that I am here but have not reached out.  One has called and gotten a return call but that was three days ago (see above). One has suggested we meet for dinner but pushed it twice. Only one has come through on all counts, and so there it is; she probably doesn't belong here after-all.

Point is, there has been more than a few moments of everyday where I have just wanted to yell "What the fuck is everyone so damn unhappy about?!?!"

And if you don't believe me, consider this: a very talented girl who I was on stage with, just the two of us in a 99-seat theater show for 13 nights, that girl took her own life about ten years ago in the same apartment where we rehearsed together.

Shit, if that weren't enough, are you hearing my negativity after only 27 days here? Yeah, it fucking creeps up and seeps in.

I was optimistic in the beginning I guess, and I gave the Tolsdorf Technique (c) a solid try. (Since it's LA and I can claim fame to anything, I claim a technique). Maybe it's my fault, but that can't be entirely true, because it seems to work for me almost everywhere else in the world but this suck-hole.

Most of it I laugh at, but I've also gotten pretty beaten down by it a couple of times too.

In the end, I still think LA is a bottled up little child and could use a massive primal scream session.

We used to have those at college. Everyone would come out of their dorms and just scream their tits and balls off. It was a ton of fun and it NEVER failed to leave all of us a lot lighter and a lot more friendly.

I'm glad I came back, but I'll push on somewhere else. Dude, you dont even know how massively stoked I am to get blazed on a plane to Spain. Right? Feel me?

Seriously. Dude. Massively.