Redondoculous

Just got back from L.A. It wasn’t my usual rotate-between-three-bars-within-one-mile-radius-in-Hollywood trip. This time, I went with my girlfriend, and we stayed at our friends Ben and Anne’s place in Redondo Beach. Still got my three-bars-in-Hollywood thing in on a couple nights, but this time there was miles and miles of freeway between me and said bars. The South Bay vibe is completely different; you spend a lot more time on the beach, ogling MILFS, reading, getting sunburned, burning your feet on the sand, throwing your raw, bloody body into the icy Pacific breakers. Seriously, the South Bay is great. Not really a shopping, restaurant and bar Mecca, but you can definitely find okay Cal-Mex and decent sushi. And everybody is laid back or retired or high on sativa and the cars and condos and flowers are beautiful. More appropriate for a decent 31-year-old man like myself. It’s like a skinnier Maple Grove on the Pacific. So in order to incorporate the beach and the driving without cutting into my drinking in Hollywood time, I pretty much had to sacrifice shopping. So no new cool Nikes. And yes, we had to spend a ton of time at the beach because my girlfriend is from Brazil and she seems to physically need contact with the ocean. You should see how happy it makes her. It’s really unbelievable. Almost scary. She’s like a silkie or something, you know, the half-seal/half-woman from The Secret of Roan Inish. Her pale Irish husband finds her and they fall in love, and he keeps her by hiding her sealskin underneath the thatch roof of their hut in dreary as fuck Donegal. But one day she finds her skin and returns to the sea, leaving him and their children behind. My situation is not dissimilar.

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One Response

  1. Donegal? Dreary as fuck? Try so starkly and bleakly majestic it melts your brain and makes you believe that perhaps there is a God who goes in for black granite and moors and thunder swollen clouds with great vast shafts of incandescent sunlight bursting through them, only to illuminate not some bearded fellow with a couple of tablets of behavioral proscriptions, but a blissfully unaware sheep.

    Not that I’m buying a cottage there, you understand.

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