Day Thirteen, Twelve Fourty Five AM

I JUST REALIZED it was day 13 since Kristen left. Maybe that explains our stroke of bad luck tonight. Perhaps that's a bit dramatic of a description, but read on and decided.

Tonight, Tuesday night, was the 2nd installment of the 6 bars, 6 weeks tour we embarked upon last week (see the posting "day five" for the premier event). As per the last time, Kristy met me via Metro Red Line and off we went to Saints and Sinners in Mar Vista. Now it's a bit of a hike at traffic time, but not horrible, so we made it in decent time. Finally found it and rolled around the corner to park when I noted the small handwritten sign:

"CLOSED APRIL 29th FOR CONSTRUCTION"

Did I mention it was the 29th? Fine, we had others in mind, so we turned 180 and headed off to downtown. Golden Gopher it is! Arrived pleasantly with little delay, so walked through the small crowd at the door and grabbed the handle.

Thunk. Thunk-Thunk.

That's when a girl in the small crowd spoke up and said: "See they tried the door too" to her companions, then, directed at us, said: "They're not open til 8". Thanks Einstein, I think I worked that out.

Skunked twice, and still wondering if a Squirrel Spa* was something a woodland creature needed after a long day of gathering nuts, we headed by foot to Seven Grand. Delightfully a block away. Delightfully OPEN.

The rest is history. Perhaps the video can help you imagine the inspiring time. As may imagining Pete saying "I've fo minutes, fo minutes, freaky-freaky" repeatedly.



-F

* Squirrel Spa: Seen on a car vanity plate: SQRL SPA. You figure out what it is!

Day Twelve, Eleven Fourty Five PM

SOMEONE ASKED ME the other day what the fun is in getting shot by paintballs. I replied the fun is in trying not to get shot. If I break it down, and throw away the inner warrior philosophies, it's basically tag. With stress. It's remarkably fun, and your heart is in you throat as you move stealthily around plywood buildings, or charge sandbagged foxholes.

It's war without all those nasty side effects- PTSD, death, those kinds of things. I once read a soldiers account of why they fight, and he related that there is a primordial fascination with the process of blowing things up. He told of his fellow Marines on a hill overlooking a position in Iraq, watching the Air Force pulverize it. From the distance, there was no human repercussion to it- only a fascinating big boom. It was the action film, not the real taker of life that it was.

I don't know why as a species we've devoted so much time to learning how to kill each other with maximum efficiency. But there's no hiding two things about paintball: One, it's play war. You're attempting to take out your enemy. The markers- aka guns- feel real and hold that bit of scariness real ones do. And two? It's undeniably fun. Even if you fail miserably at avoiding getting shot up... like me.

-F

PS the photo below is for reader "me". Day 2.5... yellow and purple, as requested.

Day Eleven, Twelve Oh Oh AM

MIDNIGHT. TIME FOR BED. Been up since 5:50 this AM. Sounds bad except when you consider I overslept. I was supposed to get up at 5:15. But I didn't want to skip my posting for Painball Day. I'll let the typo stand- it's prescient.

We arrived at 7:45 AM in Corona or Elsinore- somewhere in god forsaken Riverside County. High temp today in Elsinore got up to 100 degrees. I had the new paintball gun in hand, and off we went to play. The boys (and girls) played Paintball. I played human target. Still don't know how i got so shot up! But i did. Off to bed now, I'll let the pictures tell the story. Keep in mind you're looking at 4 of 14+ hits. Rough day!

-F

Day Ten (Plus One), Eleven Fourty One PM

SEVERAL YEARS AGO now, as the country debated a path of pre-emptive war and democracy building, I found myself in the midst of a downpour. A torrential deluge (a record set that day for downtown LA) followed myself and Scott across Broadway and up to the Federal Plaza. We had decided to speak out en mass, and were joined by tens of thousands also protesting the war. You know how it turned out now, of course. But we hoped we could stop the unstoppable. Or a least have our voices heard.

I guess you could say I'm a pacifist? Perhaps not entirely correct; but i do abhor aggression and weapons.

So it's with a little surprise that I found myself selecting a gun on Saturday. Well, not a gun, with all that entails, but a Paintball Marker (they neuter the name gun to marker, even tho everyone calls it a gun. Must be legalese).

It did feel a little strange, especially when I took it back to my Parent's place. I felt guilty bringing it in the house. I was slightly excited, with a tinge of fear, at the prospect of having this thing to play "war" with. But the A-5 with custom M-16 barrel was all mine. Perhaps next time I might select something not designed to look like a lethal killing machine.

-F

Day Nine. Nine Fifty Five PM

SO FOR THE first time I have enough loyal readers (all two of you) that I felt I needed to give back a little for such faithfulness.

In response to comments left on the post "Day Seven", etc, etc by loyal but mysterious reader "..." I would like share the following with you, in the tradition of long standing sports rivals. Your home park for that other "California-based national league team" has the seating capacity of 41,503. Attendance on April 23rd at Dodger Stadium was officially 42,893, give or take 100 people. Ha! Take that! To be honest tho, that's taken in the 4th inning- the attendance eddy for Dodger stadium. Everyone has arrived, and the first departees usually head out by the 5th. True Dodger loyalty.

As for reader "Me", the rest of the post is dedicated to her: Proof that pretty pictures and pretty people can coexist! Oh, and that flare in photography is sweet...


-F

Day Eight, Twelve Fifty Six AM

SO JUST WANTED to go to bed and skip this all together. No baseball elation today, just hard work and another early day tomorrow. 14 hour days make you realize why Unions came into being.

But I didn't want to fade on my once a day promise- So in lieu of writing, here's sample of a recent shoot. Cause everyone likes pretty pictures.

-F

Day Seven, Eleven Thirty PM

WAIT A MINUTE. Can it really be day seven already? But tomorrow is week 5 (counting down- 5 more to go), which means Kristen's only been gone one week TOMORROW. But it's seven days today? Whoooooh. That boggles the mind.

But that's not why I came here. Why I came here tonight was to share this: There are many places in the world that make me happy. But really, very few things can please me as simply & elegantly as walking onto the reserve level deck at Chavez Ravine, 3rd base side, at night. As you walk though the darkened tunnel, basking in the sounds of a game in progress, it floats into view: an emerald island bathed in floodlights. Small figures dot the positions. A crack of the bat, and the cheers go up...


And everything- everything -trying, frustrating & bad from the day slips away for the moment. All there is now, is this artifice, this sport, and my team. My team. Hated, loved, but assuredly as LA as my 213 phone number. The Dodgers.

-F

Day Six, Ten Oh Eight PM

I think anyone already reading this knows Kristen's travel blog but I wanted to link to it. It's linked on the top left of this page. She's a brilliant writer, enjoy!

-F

Day Six, Nine Fifty One PM

WOKE UP IN the best way possible. Well, second best way, but I digress... Yep, Kristen called me this morning and filled my groggy head with visions of motorcycle rides in the Thai mountains and marauding elephants. My day was much more- mundane -but brilliantly productive. Not much to say, but I like this photo so look at that instead of reading. I made it myself. While driving. Yes, that's not safe... unless you're a professional. Like me.

-F

Day Five. Hey It's One Two Three Four!

WENT OUT WITH Scott and Kris tonight. It was the inaugural "new bar a week for six weeks" project that Kris created, and I volunteered to assist (ably, I might add). Bar 1: Chalet, Eagle Rock. How was the bar? I'll let the video speak for itself.

-F

Day Four, Nine Fourty Seven PM

JUST GOT HOME from a delightful dinner with the parents. Back to the quiet house, punctuated only by the meows of a small grey Lucy happy to see me. I guess all I need to see if I'm loved is to open a can of cat food. Which leads us into tonight's short thought:

Why does the chicken flavored cat kibble get stamped out like TINY drumsticks?

It's not even chicken for christ's sake... Nor has she ever eaten a whole bird on Thanksgiving (well, neither have I come to think of it). So why? Does the manufacture think that it adds value to put tiny drumsticks and fishes in her food, to placate pet owners? Perhaps. It's just one of life's mysteries...

-F

Day Three, Eight Eleven PM

IF YOU HAVE the time, this is what Lucy did today. Besides sleeping. You'll want 2 and a half minutes to kill.

-F

Day Three, Seven Eighteen PM

FOR A DAY that started out in a rough way, it's gotten much better. Actually, that's a little dramatic; the day started out perfectly- I talked to Kristen. Amazing how good a voice sounds. Have to thank Alex Bell for his lovely little invention.

Anyway, I fell back asleep to wake up from a few sensational dreams about struggling to break into paying photography (note: I'm already a photographer, so "becoming a photographer" seemed incorrect. I just want to whore myself out, asap!). Groan. Bad enough to be locked in the neurotic struggle- let alone dream about it.

But, through dogged determination, and a little bit of phone calling (the website project moved a step closer to reality), I rallied. And in the end, I played two shots with my latest shoot- and found myself inspired, again. They're above, for your perusal.

Sweet, now I can go goof off without any guilt. Movie, anyone? Or maybe more Call of Duty...

-F

Day Two (is ending), One Fifty Five AM

OK SO IT'S really early on day three but who's counting. Besides me of course. Thought of chronicling the many facets of my day- billing, fielding phone calls, perhaps playing Call of Duty 4 with the boys (why do I suck so bad?).

One chance encounter changed that. In my endless search for the shortest time route at rush hour to Anaheim Hills- a fearful task on a Friday at 5:30 pm -I ran across a sign. A sign that seemed to reach back to a slower, more courteous time. A sign courtesy of Cal Trans:

"This on ramp will be closed intermittently from Dec 2007 until Dec 2012"

Thanks CalTrans. Think that's long enough? Good to know, should I be near the 710-91 interchange for the next FOUR AND ONE HALF years...

-F

Day Two (barely), Twelve Thirty AM

ONE HOUR, TWENTY minutes- compressed: Kristen's plane sitting at gate 101 doing nothing. It's the tail behind the British Airways 747, looking a bit like the Quantas kangaroo. Peaceful really, surrounded by the LAX hulabaloo.



Oh, and when she finally backs out of the gate? The battery dies in the camera. Ah, technology.

-F

Day One, Ten Fifty-Two PM

SHE'S BEEN GONE about 8 hours. Roughly.

Took off about 1 hour delayed, and as I watched the plane lift, wobble and bank left (presumably Hong Kong is also the same direction as Long Beach?), a soft quiet fell over me. My companion, wife and incessantly lovely chatterbox was gone. There will be only a few times a week we may talk, if more that just one. A fair time alone with one's thoughts.

I realized that it might be entertaining to blog the trivialities of being left in the normal... for the 41 days left 'til my wife returns. So we present to you- or just I, since the cat can't write (only critique- and speak English if Kristen is to be believed) -this travelogue of the mundane. Pictures provided for the reading impaired.

-F

PS... humble apologies for the misspelled title. I just looks better.