Passenger footwell = trash can

Big Sur is stunningly beautiful. Scott in San Fran suggested that I stop at this hilltop restaurant called Nepenthe that overlooks the ocean. And it was a gorgeous day. I started off a little later than I wanted from San Francisco, and had bad luck directionally three times (went the wrong way after getting gas in Gilroy, then missed my exit onto Highway 1) but finally, I made it through the curves. I had a very illuminating conversation with David Knox at Nepenthe who does the fund raising for a decorative arts foundation based in Milwaukee called Chipstone that may be familiar to some museum folk. We talked a lot of travel, especially his 10,000 mile road trip through the Soviet Union in 1968, the first year that foreigners were allowed to travel by car in the USSR. Him and his wife spent a thousand dollars and drove their little Porsche 356 starting from Oxford to I think Moscow. It makes me think of how relatively easy it is to drive these days, especially in the US with all the signage (even if sometimes it can be easy to get confused).

Driving in LA is not easy. I hit the rush hour this morning while last night as I was coming in there were several people that zoomed past me going well over a hundred. This white truck passed me on at least three occasions, once after having been pulled over. As it is the end of the month and with municipalities struggling to make ends meet, cops have been everywhere along my route.

I have not been taking many pictures. In Big Sur, I just wanted to soak up the beauty. Even on 101 into LA the drive was gorgeous, driving along the coastline as the sun went down. And in LA I just can't seem to destress, I feel a bit stifled and can't wait to get away. The girls I'm staying with are nice and seemingly very busy with their theatre careers. When I got into town, they were both out so I hunted around for a place to kill some time and I ended up at this bar called Dave's. Here's what I wrote in my diary there:

Cynthia Speer is playing "smooth" jazz. CDs are for sale. This is at Dave's, a bar described by the guy at the liquor store as dive-y. It isn't really, actually quite clean. I get the sense they're trying to build a clientele: it reminds me a bit of early Side Street days when the bartenders would introduce themselves and there would only be a few people there huddling around the one pool table. According to Regina the bartender, this is the oldest bar in Glendale, open since the 30s. Very friendly staff. It is pretty quiet; it is Monday after all.

There's a compatriot of mine a couple of seats over [of the Indian kind]. His accent is all the thicker for him being pretty drunk. He's been loudly describing his success at fending off "gangbangers" and firmly believes that one of those "crazies" will finish him off one day. He then proclaims his undying love to Regina.

Funny that Amber Bock would come back into my life twice in the past week. I had a conversation about the beer with a bartender in Portland. I told her how the last time I had Amber Bock was in Oklahoma and it turned out that she's from Oklahoma and went to the same school as me. She worked at the best local pizza place we had over in Stillwater and of course knows people I know who worked there. And now I'm drinking Amber Bock. It isn't the best but the don't have much else that's drinkable. Portland spoils one that way, although some of the best...

This is LA! A police chase on TV!

-end-

I think what I wanted to say when that last sentence was interrupted by the inevitable live TV chase (the guy was caught of course as he ran down the freeway; why do they always head for the freeway? Maybe it's because there are so many freeways here) was that a lot of the best beers are brewed in California.

Kris before we went to dinner in Culver City

I can't get my door panel off and I'm afraid I'll break something. Joe, the guy that sold me the spare part, has offered to surreptitiously fix things up for me for 35 dollars, versus the $95 that the service guys would charge me. I have to be back at Central Toyota by 11 30 when his lunch hour begins so we can hide in a side alley and he can earn some side money. Written out like that, I'm thinking, what the hell am I doing? Sounds like a drug deal. I guess I'm doing things LA style.


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