Friday, January 7, 2011

Run to the Desert

Today marks a historic moment for me - my first travel blog post. Frankly, I've never written a travel post because I rarely go on trips worth writing about. And yes, Palmdale/Los Angeles seems relatively ordinary in the greater context of travel blogs. I'm not fighting terrorist insurgencies in Pakistan or AIDS in Senegal. That said, the desert is a pretty good place to get lost. Or in this scenario, to fall into completely surreal fucking absurdity. Nevertheless, there are a few lessons I learned on the trip:

1. "Danger Zone" should always be playing in airport terminals:
Nothing says "let's do the damn thing" like exiting your plane, walking into a terminal, and hearing the first chords of Kenny Loggins' seminal soundtrack to Hollywood's greatest bromance. The only thing that could have made it better, you ask? If Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer look-alikes were chest pumping at the baggage claim.

2. Los Angeles drivers have absolutely no idea how to drive in the rain:
The early afternoon was mostly drizzle, but as soon as it started actually raining, average speed on the 110 dropped to 40 MPH. Just because it was raining. Are you serious? Of course, in order to prove his superiority, Bryan made it a point to say what proved to be the second most mortifying quote of the evening, which was "let's drift into this offramp." As it turns out, San Gabriel roads are slick. Luckily, their medians also have copious shoulders.

Which brings me to Part B: "How San Gabriel and LA drivers almost ended up killing me." Our decision to go to San Gabriel to visit Sofie and Co. meant that we missed the news that the Grapevine was closed due to snow. Meaning that we left a half hour too late to avoid Grapevine traffic re-routed towards Palmdale. Of course, once we hit Highway 14, we were stop and go (more stop than go) avoiding idiots who couldn't drive through the snow on the freeway. It took us two hours to drive 5-7 miles. I truly thought Bryan was going to just get out of the car and start walking. Eventually we exited and went on an icy canyon road, finally getting into town after four hours, at which point Bryan said the other mortifying quote of the evening: "I'm gonna be honest, I was about 50/50 on whether we'd crash and have to sleep in the car, I just didn't want to tell you so you wouldn't freak out." Thanks, bro.

3. Sobriety is inversely proportional to the amount of 99 cent stores, pawn shops, and chain restaurants in your town:
While the urge to drink profusely seems pretty common in any suburban town, it seemed so natural to end each night in Palmdale with a few (OK, or maybe more than a few) beverages. The days passed aimlessly as suburban time-wasters did their intended duty, and the nights quickly encouraged the question of, "so who's bringing the whiskey?" Hours at cafes or driving between strip malls flowed into a surreal flurry of sameness that still somehow managed to be unique. And this wasn't as unique to Palmdale as it was unique to the suburban experience. Each day provided unity through the mutual knowledge that everything around us could burn, and the earth wouldn't be much worse for wear; each night seemed a sigh of relief that another aimless journey had concluded. I'll spare the chill-bro power stories of how totally fucking smashed I got bro. All I will say is that one morning I woke up on a different couch than I fell asleep on with an inexplicable pain in my ass. Don't worry, it was in the cheek muscle. Get your mind out of the gutter.

4. Nothing cures a hangover quite like shooting a shotgun:
I can't fully describe how relaxed your mind must be to wake up after the aforementioned rendezvous with Jim Beam and be able to go into Kern County on an empty stomach and shoot a shotgun. Let's face it, I am a pretty neurotic person. I should have been more concerned about this. By the time I actually got to Rosamond to do this, though, I didn't even ask how to hold the damn thing. Bryan's friend Jason just handed me the gun, told me where the safety was, and I shot it into desert nothingness. I don't say this to sound cool (though I'm pretty sure this gives me a few cool points). I say this because there's something beautiful in everyone I was with and their collective ability to not be concerned. We knew we wanted to shoot a shotgun, so hangovers and breakfast burritos were delayed until we got what we wanted. I couldn't help but notice the enormous smiles on everyone's face after we realized what we had just done. "You mean I get to shoot a shotgun in the desert?" There seems to be so many barriers to doing things like this. On a day to day basis, this seems completely impossible. But it happened. I don't necessarily condone shooting guns without supervision, but I definitely condone breaking down all the unnecessary barriers that stop people from breaking an action to its bare bones, and then deciding whether it can be accomplished. That analysis aside, though, I'm pretty sure I now understand why the NRA has such widespread support.

5. Following your instincts will lead you where you need to go
To wrap up this rambling blog post that's taken me a week to write, I'll pull out the main point behind this all. I'm a different person than I was before I went to Palmdale. Before this winter break, I was a sea of excess. I drank too much alcohol, read too much postmodern literature, wasted too much time, and analyzed my life to the point where every encounter in my day became trivial and banal. I can say this because an important transition away from those selfish desires occurred when I found myself subject to the whims of a transient Southern California vacation. And to an extent I began this transition by taking stock of those important to me over winter break and making sure that I found a way to eliminate the ego and spend time in worthwhile companionship. I started this blog as a way to cope with the lack of fellowship that you naturally feel after a breakup. But lack of fellowship is something that anybody who refuses to look beyond him or herself will feel. My dialogue last semester was between me, my problems, and those who would listen. When you're surrounded by friends that are about to leave in a city that isn't your own, it becomes frighteningly obvious that your problems don't mean shit. That you should lay down your burdens and encounter the chaos with open arms. I didn't expect to do half of the things I did in Palmdale. I went down there to spend time with a close friend who I knew I needed to see. It was a simple, bare bones reason that was far different from the selfish whims to which I usually succumb. It just so happened that while I was there I remembered something I haven't felt in a long time. I remembered how to be comfortable that my personality, my choices, and my emotional and physical geography are valuable. This is not the winter of our discontent. This it the season of our awakening.

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