Somewhere Along the Coast

I’ve felt like I have been stuck in San Francisco for a long time. I’ve always entertained the idea of moving away, but relationships, school, and work have always put an end to those thoughts. I made the excuse that if I couldn’t make my career happen in San Francisco, I didn’t want to run off to another city to have to start over. When I told a friend why I was moving she said that it sounded like the plot to “Eat, Pray, Love” whatever that’s supposed to mean.

I pack my car for the two-month journey and head down on a beautiful, clear day. I take Highway 1 and take my time. The roads are open and I really let loose around Monterey only to be pulled over for going 91mph in a 55 zone. The officer cuts me a break and puts me down for 75.

“Are you an artist or something?” He asks gesturing to the paintings in the backseat.

“Yeah, just doing a little stint in LA.”

“Good luck.”

I spend the first few nights in LA on a friend’s couch before I move to my place downtown. The apartment I sublet is above a tire shop on Central Ave and 7^th. I share a live/work studio with my roommate D____ who works at the library of a prestigious art school. The studio is 2 blocks away from the heart of Skid Row and there’s quite a bit of runoff. I wake up to drug and alcohol induced screaming matches outside my window routinely. It takes awhile, but the traffic and late night debauchery soon just become a soft background noise.  I am looking for change, but not quite sure where to find it.

Downtown LA and Struggles the Cat

I wake up to coffee and cigarettes on most days. The apartment has a large patio and I meet my neighbor P____ and the property cat, Struggles. He’s an actor and Uber driver which I soon learn is a pretty common occupation around here. Struggles is a white cat with black spots and meows loudly at my feet every time he wants to be pet. P_____’s got on black jeans and boots, a jean jacket with no t-shirt. Struggles is covered in a thick layer of dust. P_____ is still up from the night before and I’m sure Struggles has been` too.

“I’m still tripping on acid.” P_____ says wide-eyed and grinning, “I mean it’s pretty good stuff.”

He is manic and gesticulates wildly, he gives me a monologue from a class he participated in the night before. I listen patiently and have another cigarette and sip my coffee.

“This is the last bender for a month. I’ve really been going at it pretty hard” he says more to himself than to me.

Studio Downtown LA

I paint all day and go out nightly. The tire shop downstairs starts going around 8am and blasts the Top 100 hip hop radio station, but it feels more like 10 songs on repeat. I live on bread, lunch meat, bags of spinach and canned soup and binge watch the entirety of The Office in a few weeks.  I start and set a deadline for the dot paintings. There are set parameters, guidelines and rules which forces me to focus on the technique and color choice. Painting cut down to the very basics. I need to simplify things in my practice and in my life.

My friend R_____ comes over one night and we split a fifth and a few beers. He’s a real slick guy and with lots of energy. He tells me that him and his girlfriend are in an open relationship. We go out Echo park and end up at a club having a salsa night. We spend the night chasing women and I end up with a date with a girl named D_____ the following day.

D_____ picks me up from a show in the Arts District and I can tell she is nervous. During the date I get a call from my brother saying that our Grandfather has passed away. I tell D_____ and she is understanding about the whole ordeal. I never see her again. I drive back to SF a few days after because my passport is at home and I fly out to Taiwan. It is a depressing trip and I manage to get in a bar fight a few days after the funeral for good measure. It’s something I’ve tried to stay away from but I guess that some demons are harder to get rid of than others.

I fly back into LAX and spend two more weeks downtown. I have a black eye for a few days, but only a college friend ever really notices it or at least brings it up in conversation.

“Dude, did you get punched in the face?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean how does the other guy look?”

“Worse than me.”

“Daniel, aren’t you a little old for bar fights?”

“Apparently not.”

Redondo Studio Cat

After a month downtown, I move out to a little place in Redondo. It’s quite a drive away from most of my friends and that’s what I really wanted anyways. I’ve rented a private room in a little house about a mile from the beach with a couple and their 3 year old son.  I’ve never lived near a beach before but am willing to give it a try. The town is small and the beaches are pristine and clean. Most days I wake up and paint until the sun is high overhead and make my way to the water.

During the weekdays the beaches are almost completely empty. Vast stretches of sunbleached sand and clear blue sea. No tourists, no kids, just me and the ocean for miles. There are no clouds and it is a pleasant 75. I listen to the waves crash rhythmically like a lazy metronome. I think about going back to coaching, I think about the little things I worry about from day to day. About money, about work, about family, about not getting where I want to be. And in the moment it all seems very silly, these worries. Crash. I sit and close my eyes and take the sea in. Crash. I dig my feet into the sand and feel at peace with things. Crash. The moment is perfect and I wish that it would last for a little bit longer, this feeling.

Redondo Studio

Each day I go through this routine and I am happier than I have been for a long time. A girl I’m seeing, S____, spends a couple of nights at my place. She’s wearing one of my T shirts and sitting on the bed when she asks, “Will you miss me when I’m gone?”

“I’m not sure, it’s not something I’ve thought about.”

It doesn’t seem to be the right answer. We leave the conversation at that and she seems to forget about it in the morning. I tell her I’ll call, but that I’ll be on the road for the next few weeks.

The night before I leave Redondo I make a little sketch for M_____, my host and her family. We smoke some pot together and chat about what I’m doing and where I’m going next. She’s wearing a low cut one piece bathing suit and a negligée. The suns been down for hours.

Somewhere Along the Coast

“I’m going to drive down to San Diego to see a college friend.”

“And after that?”

“Probably just couch surfing for a bit. Silverlake or back to the Artists District. I’m not sure yet.”

“What a life you live.”

“It’s only for a few more weeks. It's not like my entire life is rainbows and flowers.”

“It sounds like your life is a party. I still like to party you know, but A____(her husband) is over it. Maybe when you come back from San Diego we can go out.”

“Yeah that might be a possibility, I’ve really enjoyed Redondo.”

“You know if A______ came out right now and I was sitting in your lap he wouldn’t care.”

I excuse myself as courteously as possibly and go back to my room.

I have lunch with a few friends in Santa Monica the next day before I head down to San Diego. The traffic isn’t bad but my A/C decides to die halfway there. I spend the next few days playing with his two kids and seeing a glimpse of the insanity of being a parent. I learn that kids are easy to trick and that chips and candy can solve most problems. I eat pizza three meals in a row and don’t regret it until my stomach explodes. Sometimes I am a little envious of my friends who have a family life, but the grass is always greener.

San Diego Studio

I drive back to the Artists District after San Diego and crash at a friend’s condo. I feel listless and antsy. I have one more week to go before I’m supposed to go back North. I stay a few more days in the Artist District and decide to cut the trip short and drive back home on a Tuesday morning. I call S____ and tell her that I won’t be able to see her again.

“I thought you were going to stay for another week?”

“Yeah, just don’t think I can couch surf anymore.”

“You can come stay over my place” she offers, “You could stay as long as you like.”

“I’ve got to go back, I’ve already set up some meetings and…”

“When are you coming back?”

“Maybe sometime next year after I finish my coaching stints.”

There’s a pause as she’s trying to figure things out.

“I just didn’t want this to happen.”

“What to happen?”

“This. I mean you’re just going to take off and it’s like it all meant nothing.”

“We both knew this was going to happen. I’m only a flight away.”

“I just thought that ... nothings never mind. I hope you have a nice drive back.”

This time I take the 5 through the valley and make the trip in 5 hours. The two months passed by in a blip and I return to the same house and the same studio and the same life. Nothing has changed. The routine remains, the past intact, because wherever you go, your troubles will follow you.

Back Home Studio

I’m hoping I’ve moved past some of my fears. I’m hoping that I’ve taken a few lessons away from this. If anything, at least I’ll always have the few weeks of bliss on the beach. The waves and the memories of a moments tranquility. Life is long and full of ups and downs, and nothing lasts forever.  When I am in need of it, peace will always be there along the coast of California.

 

On the Lam - Vancouver

We had been on a bender for a few days and I wasn't necessarily feeling all too good. We were sitting at a bar, the Cambie, in Gastown and watching the Canucks game. We tried to scalp tickets earlier during the night, but the idea of spending $100 plus on some game I could give less of a shit about was outrageous. We had an entire pitcher of Granville Pale Ale in front of us. I was feeling a little depressed and my stomach felt like shit, but I put on a good face. I was traveling with a mate in Vancouver for the holidays and didn't want to spoil the weekend.

The crowd was young and lively and I scanned the room from one pretty face to another, but all I could think about was my ex girlfriend. My mind wandered and I thought about her with another man and I tried to take a sip of beer, but was afraid it might make me sick. Our waitress came over and asked if we wanted to order anything from the kitchen. She was slim with a tan complexion. She wore a black tshirt and jeans, and had eyes like a cat.

She took our orders and left.

"What do you think she is?" Benson asked.

"I was thinking hapa of some sort."

"She looks almost Indian."

We made small trivial talk and watched the girls sipping their beers.

The waitress came back and I asked where she was from.  Her parents were both Turkish, but she had travelled quite a bit growing up and spoke damn near perfect Mandarin and French. She smiled and was very charming and I was wondering what she was doing waiting tables at a shitty bar like that. We made some more small talk, but I knew she had to get back to work. I asked her name and she said it was Kathy and gave me her hand and I damn near told her I loved her on the spot.

After that I didn't feel so bad anymore so we ordered some shots. I went outside for a smoke and got a tip from a bum that a man in a black hoodie was selling bud if I was interested.

"Yeah, how will I know who he is?"

"You'll see him dealing to the kids."

"Aright, thanks man appreciate it."

"How about a few bucks?" I handed him a $2 coin, I tend to get pretty loose with foreign currency.

"You can't spare some more? Don't you have a five?"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me" I replied while walking away, looking for a man in a black hoodie. They were everywhere. I finally found him palming off dime sacks to hostel kids. He was about 40, well built and looked like he had been in a few scraps in his day. I bought an eighth.

I went back inside the Cambie and shared the good news. We stayed around a bit longer, but it felt like it I was at a college bar. We left abrubtly and I never got to say goodbye to Kathy properly, but she'll always have a place in my heart.

We took a cab over to Yaletown to find out what it was like partying with the rich kids. We went to a few bars, but really they were forgettable. We were throwing back whiskey sodas like our lives depended on it. I had a nice buzz going but felt underdressed and under classed everywhere I went.

The posh bars were littered with beautiful girls who's daddies had deep pockets or beautiful girls who were looking for a daddy with deep pockets. I could support neither and my paint splattered clothes were not really doing me any favors. They took took one look at me and assumed I was from the working class. They were wrong, I made less money.

Benson made friends with the bartenders and we got a few rounds on the house. I walked into the bathroom and rolled a few pinners. I went outside for a smoke and watched the couples walk by huddled together to fight the cold. The bud was pretty good and not very expensive like everything else in Vancouver.

I went back inside and Benson was best friends with everyone. The bartender poured us another round and took one with us. Two guys sitting next to Benson  invited us to a club down the street. I looked at my watch and it read 1am.

"Isn't closing time at 2am?" I asked.

"Yeah," one of them replied, "but this place is open til 4 and there's beautiful women.

No need for further elaboration.

We walked and bullshitted and I tried not to throw up. One of the two guys, Raymond, was a big, portly fellow and knew everyone at the door. They let us in without checking IDs.

Raymond ordered us another round and I just held it for awhile.

Raymond saw some more of his friends and introduced me and Benson to two Indian girls. One was short with curly hair and the other was tall with her haired pinned up, they both had on black cocktail dresses.

I didn't remember their names. I bought them some drinks, they bought us drinks, Raymond bought some more drinks. A lot of the in-between is blurred. We left a little after that. I don't remember what happened with Raymond and his friend. We walked down with the two girls and were gonna go grab a bite. The Short curly haired girl was talkative and funny. The Tall girl was a bit shy and started to lag behind, further and further until she was nearly a block away from us.

The curly haired girl looked back and was annoyed.

"What are you doing?" she shouted at the Tall girl. There was no reply. The Tall girl was standing there a block up with her  arms crossed and held her left hand to her face.

The curly haired girl shouted "What are you doing bitch? Let's go!" She turned to me and Benson and said "She always fucking does this. Drama queen."

"Fuck You!" Tall girl shouted.

They went back and forth for a little bit and I decided to walk back to Tall girl to see what the problem was. I walked up and could see that she was sobbing.

"Hey what's wrong?"

"I hate her." She sobbed some more. "You wouldn't understand." She said between sobs. She said some more shit but she both she and I were incoherent so I just shook my head and said that it was going to be okay.

I didn't really know what to do. I didn't even know her name. I looked back at Benson a block away and motioned my hand back and forth across my neck indicating that we were done, I watched him walk across the street to grab a cab.

"Hey listen, I don't know what's wrong, but I hope you guys really work it out."

As I jogged across the street I could still hear them shouting up and down the street. I looked at my watch and it was nearly 4:30.

I hopped in the cab Benson had hailed and we asked if there were any spots that were still open where we could grab a bite. The driver replied in the negative and some words were exchanged and we got kicked out of the cab. We had only gone two blocks, but found another cab quickly.

It was 5 by the time we made it back to the hotel. We polished off the rest of the fifth of Jim Beam we started the night with and toasted the Vancouver sunrise. We were trying to get back home to the states by 1 to watch the niners in the NFC championship. It was going to be a long drive back.