Monday, May 09, 2005

There's a ritual to the first week of summer. The first step involves sleeping in waaaay past the first light of day. The second requires the consumption of copious amounts of processed sugar. And usually the third step involves some crazy from the opposite sex.

So I was lying there completely awake next to the Three Amigos girl at 4 am and feeling a little sick from that box of sour patch kids. And for some reason I can't think about all those fun body games or the cool DVD's or her hand on my stomach. All I'm thinking about how my grandfather, that hardened Jew off the streets of Brooklyn, is probably looking down at me and laughing that big belly laugh of his. And here I am going to LA. New York is where I belong. I know that. Everyone around me knows that. But I'll make my way over there. Then home will just be another flyover state.

A flyover state where I can afford a place to live. The price of living in LA is enough to make me want to cry. Will it be worth it when I wake up on my blow-up mattress to a room with no furniture? Will it be worth it when I'm dragging myself through the sticky heat down Wilshire boulevard to work? Will it be worth it when I get my paycheck for half of what I could make here to pay twice the rent and let's please not talk about food or drinks? Will it be worth it to roll to the beach? Will it be worth it when I play in the waves and lie on the sand and skate home as the last glint of sunlight peeks out over the edge of the ocean?

I'm not sure. I guess I'll have to let you know.


Blogger Mo said...

dont underestimate those blow up mattresses.

good luck with everything in the city of angels. im sure youll do great.

5:44 AM  

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