-Don Juan Matus (Sunday, August 20, 1961)
From "The Teachings of Don Juan" By: Carlos Castaneda
This past Monday morning I awoke as usual at 7:00 AM. I got up, got in the shower, walked across the street for an iced coffee, came back to my apartment and got comfortable in my chair to watch Tony Harris on CNN like I do every morning. What was different about Monday morning was that I watched his entire broadcast and did not leave for work because I had no work to go to.
Normally I can stand approximately 17 to 23 minutes of news in the morning before I can no longer stand the absurdity of what the focus of our national attention has become. I had no work to go on Monday so I ended up watching more news that what I was comfortable watching.
It was a horrible experience my friends. Not watching the news because I am a certified headlines junkie but the fact I had nothing better to do but to sit and be told of how much everything is going to shit.
I got up and I started packing. I started packing for Vancouver. Now as all the 9 or 12 people know that read this blog is that I enjoy telling stories very much. I often have a tendency to allow these stories to get ahead of my actual intentions. My "get-the-hell-out-of-LA" Canada plan was one of those stories. I had been telling people about my intentions to make a run for Vancouver since I lived in The Manor.
I was supremely confident the situation wouldn't arise.
It did and I'm OK with it. Well at least now I am because I can tell you with sincerity that I did not want to leave LA. I love LA with all the capacity I have to love some place. I'm here to tell you now that leaving the city, being fired from my job and then once again going on an adventure with no clear goal in mind frightened me.
That's exactly why I'm doing it.
My car was completely packed with at least three works of clothes firmly and securely in my back pack. My Coleman propane stove in the trunk, my tent, my journal and my Macintosh computer were all tucked away in my car.
I got some Thai food and went upstairs to play Guitar Hero afterward. I finished eating and played a couple songs. Then a couple more. Time was ticking away. I kept watching the clock. I was on no one's schedule but my own. The only one in the entire universe I had to account for or report to was myself. I could easily smoke more pot, eat more Thai food and play video games as long as I so desired. No one would blame me. Many would envy the fact that that situation alone was presented to me.
It made me sick.
I was terribly anxious about making the journey by myself which had me glued to my Guitar Hero controller. I was tearing myself apart for partaking in recreational activities while I should be working. There was only one choice.
The open road.
I took my three weeks pay and cashed them immediately. Through some intensive Google searching I located a hostel in San Francisco called The Green Tortoise. The Google reviews pegged it as the present day Hotel California. I figured it was a bet worth taking.
The drive was easy. Two stops between Silverlake and San Francisco brought me to the Green Tortoise Hostel in North Beach on Broadway Ave. It was dusk when I arrived and I parked into a public parking spot right beside the hostel. I was stretching my legs and working out a near cramp when a small Asian man began to hassle me for money. I urged him to be patient but he only wanted his money. I gave him forty dollars and informed him I was planning on being here a couple days. I was annoyed by his forceful nature and just wanted him to leave me alone. I would later learn on my departure that it would of only cost me thirty dollars for two days.
That bastard.
The hostel appeared at first to be in a rather shady area. There were people in front that looked like they smelled like Jerry Garcia's jock strap after a rousing game of Bocce Ball.
With apprehension I proceeded inside to check-in. (This is funny because not a few hours later that night and the next night I would be one of those people in front of the hostel watching the occupants come in with utter bewilderment.)
I got my key and walked to my room. I opened the door and was taken back by who I found in the room. Two ridiculously gorgeous girls from Finland, one blonde and one red head, simultaneously said "Hi!" as soon as I walked through the door.
I know that you are thinking that I'm making this up but as I've said before, I can't make this stuff up.
I've heard of the saying "a girl makes up her mind if she's going to sleep with you in the first ten seconds of meeting you" before. I always abide by it and I'm rarely proven wrong. I completely blew my first ten seconds.
Blonde: What are you doing here?
Red head: Yea, what are you doing here?
(My jaw is dropped. My mind is pretty much blown and I'm desperately searching for something to say to not make myself sound like an idiot.)
Me: I umm I got fired from my job in Los Angeles so I'm taking a trip to Vancouver.
Redhead: Ohh you got fired?
(I'm thinking in my head that opening up with the fact that I got fired was possibly the worst opener that I could think of. Saying that I'm headed north to club seals would of been better.)
Me: Yeaaaa, I used to work for a TV show. No big deal. Just some talk show. I didn't do anything wrong just so you know...kind of. Soooo where are you from?
Despite my horrible first impression the girls agreed to meet up later for drinks. I got out before I made a bigger ass of myself and found a bar down Kearney to gather my thoughts.
I sat at a classy bar alone, sipping Anchor Steam and thought about the events that brought me there. I began to realize what I have been doing the last few months. I was working. I was working a desk job and doing pretty well. I was in bed by 11 every night and up early every morning. It was a good job with benefits and stability. It was also draining my very soul out from me. Bonnie Hunt was literally exorcising my eternal being out from my nostrils in between breaths of booking the good people of America for the day time talk show that wasn't Oprah or The View.
I came to a realization there as I combed through my phone book for someone to call and talk to. Nobody answered and it was clear to me I was there for the adventure. I was there for the story. I was domesticating myself by attempting to fit in to the 9-5 life style. I had to bury the untamable side of me in a burlap sack and ignore that it existed while I spent my time in the office. I can not be contained and by thinking I had the ability to stop the party I had started years ago would be foolish.
I went back to the hostel for those girls and for the rest of my adventure.
I met them in the community room of the hostel along with; Jordan the one-man-band street performer, Mike the Irish traveler here on work holiday, Pascal the Belgian seeing the states for the first time with his entire vacation paid for by his work, an Australian named Caroline that had soft eyes and was at the tail end of her month long journey through the states and also the two beautiful Finnish girls.
I sat in an open seat at a round table and a beer was handed to me. We all began to share our stories. My adrenaline rushed through my veins as I listened to their stories and shared mine. A table of complete strangers all brought together by the desire to see and experience something else. Tales of debauchery and ridiculousness were thrown out on the table as if we were playing a globe traveler version of poker.
It was the most exciting and compelling evening I had ever spent at a round table.
The next day it rained. It rained hard all day long. We found ourselves right back at the very same round table from the night before just going on about the most insane subjects we could come up with to entertain ourselves.
We discussed how many flights a cat would survive if you threw one out of a window, we talked about the best international drinking games, we were just getting into politics when (obviously) the Irish guy suggested we start drinking.
The booze started flowing at our table like the rain that roared down the steep hill roads of San Francisco. The atmosphere was surreal. Perfect strangers from all over the world who knew nobody going in were all of a sudden the life of the party.
We were the party.
We were by ourselves before we met each other and then out of nowhere something brilliant was happening. There is a beautiful bond that is made between people who travel. It is instant and it is intense. It is intense because it is sincere and honest. There was nothing out of the ordinary of the night, we went out and bar hoped.
I told stories that I knew would get laughs. Like the time I drilled rocks into my Boy Scout Derby car to win and was disqualified with dishonor. They especially liked how I had trained my pigs I raised on my farm growing up to sit and come to their names on command for jelly beans.
I talked about how I possessed virtuosic ninja skills when the Blonde said she had been a kick boxer. I then got up and did several round-house kicks, scaring the shit out of everyone in my area and almost kicking my drunk Irish friend in the face. It was a pretty normal night out for me all considered and that's what made it so magical. That a perfect night of fun was possible with absolutely anyone from any background or culture.
The next morning was rough. To start with there was an insanely long line to get a toasted bagel and secondly I had to say good bye because I had a campsite reserved. I really had to get going.
I, of course, fell in love and wanted to follow the Blonde to LA. I had to continue North though. I became close friends in a short amount of time with the Irish guy (in the same that I had with many of the other characters I've met on my travels). Before I rolled off for The Redwoods National Park I shared a cigarette with him. He called it "the last day of school" and that "it fucking sucks mayne!". I laughed and told him that I agreed. We exchanged emails and agreed that if the Indianapolis Colts made it to the Super Bowl we would meet up in New York for it.
You can bet your sweet ass the Colts will make it to the Super Bowl.
The Redwoods was a spiritual experience. That is an abrupt subject change and I'm still processing what I learned in the forest so I will save it for a later date. I did have an inspiring conversation with my supervisor from my time that I was working in Canada though that gave me fuel that didn't present itself on my fuel gauge.
(Keep in mind this is my boss from almost two years ago and we had not spoken until two days before this conversation took place.)
Me: I'm going on an adventure to figure out my next move.
My boss: That's fucking great man. What do you have to figure out?
Me: Well, What I'm doing and how I'm going to do it.
My boss: Vancouver is beautiful and you will have a great time there. But what did you go to LA to do man?
Me: To make films.
My boss: And you think Bonnie Hunt (The day time TV talk show I was working for) has any effect on what you are trying to do?
Me: Not really actually.
My boss: Then it becomes another good story to tell man! In my opinion you probably should of been fired months ago. Are you not a rock star, man?
Me: Well, yea I am headed up the west coast to Vancouver with no real plan.
My boss: What are you really trying to do?
Me: Make films.
My boss: Then go make fucking films man and next time you need the obvious told to ya you've got my home number. Pay attention to the road and send me an email, eh?
After checking into my single room with king size bed at the Travelodge on Burnside in Portland, I showered, got dressed up and headed across the street to a nice restaurant for a steak. I walked up to the bar and the only open seat was next to a dark haired girl, late twenties early thirties but soft complected and with a ninja wielding a samurai sword on her right forearm. She was drinking an extra dirty dry martini.
We exchanged looks. She was older but very cute. She said something quirky to the bartender and I commented. We were instantly in conversation after that. Turns out she grew up between ages of 5-12 in Broad Ripple, Indianapolis. We talked about the Children's Museum. I could tell she was interested when she changed her bar tab from outside, where she was dining with her friends once they finally arrived, to the restaurant bar where I was sitting. So she could talk to me every time she needed a new drink.
I finished my seventh or eighth IPA and paid my tab. I could see the table where her friends were sitting. I could see her looking at me expecting me to walk over to the table.
I walked out the door of the restaurant and returned to my room at the hotel. I made myself a drink and opened up my laptop. I had better things to do. I had to write. There's always going to be more stories and adventures but there's never enough time to write about them.
Such is the life of a Road Man for The Lords of Karma.
With Love & Respect,
Mike James
Make films!!!!
ReplyDelete