xtcian

put some english on it

5/13/04

T, Cyia, Carole, Dad in La Quinta

We spent the last two days in the desert at my dad's house in La Quinta, which is a very, very, very hot place. So hot that it bleaches away your perceived troubles, leading Tessa and I to contemplate Plan B. Actually Plan B through Plan X, since there is one immutable rule of being a freelance artist: do not be content with having four balls in the air; you must have fourteen.

Dad and Carole have a modest place right next to some tennis courts and a nice pool, and I was told there were even some grass tennis courts. I have never set foot on a grass court, and in fact, when people said "grass," I thought they were kidding. Having cut my teeth on the hardscrabble fucked-up asphalt of Eastern Iowa, the idea of bouncing a ball on grass struck me as totally impossible.

Here's the thing about the desert: it feels untenable, like it was built totally on the backs of Hubris. This has to be the most unforgiving land in America, where they get three days of rain a year and September usually sees temps in the high 120s. And yet, the strip of grass down the middle of the highway is verdant green with nightly waterings. It seems like they built a bowling alley on the Moon, because they could.

the unforgiving ragged cliffs behind their house

Yet, it was a great trip - we ate well, dad bought me a bunch of soy lattés (the way straight to my heart) and Tessa's mom gave me an early present for my birthday: a silk Hawaiian shirt that I will actually wear. I'm of the belief that most Hawaiian shirts make their owners look fat, uncomely, bloated and somewhat racist, but not this shirt. This is an equal-opportunity Hawaiian shirt with leftist tendencies.

The ride home was a unmitigated parking lot of sweltering cars that was a miserable, miserable slog, even in the Prius. By the time we got near Santa Monica, I was bashing my head against the window: it took 4 hours to go 93 miles. That's patently unacceptable.

Three Excedrins later, I accompanied Jen, Jen, Jenny (yep), Sian and Tessa to Michael Angelo Stuno's directorial triumph "A Safe Distance" (click here for the rave review) and had a blast. Who knew we could come to Los Angeles and see so much live theater?

Not me. I was expecting jugglers, mimes, and fake boobies. There may be some subtlety to this place after all.